The Domestic Analysis
by somethinginthewayful
Summary: Sequel to "The Long Way Home" - Sherlock and Molly start to settle into domesticity after the ordeals of Reichenbach, but difficulties inevitably start to arise when Sherlock finds himself cast in the role as boyfriend, and Molly has to get them through
1. Home Again

_The Domestic Analysis_

**A/N: Helllllooooo everyone! I'm back! I'm sorry this new story took so long to launch, but I spent so much time trying to figure out how to start it, and then the words just wouldn't come. But I was in the shower this morning planning it out and I sat down and wrote this out! I was so busy today with schoolwork, and it just snowed here so my friend and I did a photoshoot. Very fun! **

**I just wanted to also give a thanks to all the reviewers on my last story, particularly the anon "MissKingAtYourService" and "jessspider" - who practically yelled at me through review to keep writing. :) I love you all and I cherish each of the reviews, you guys keep me writing. 3**

**Disclaimer: Oh how I wish I could call myself the Great Scottish Troll Steven Moffat, but then again... no, no I'll stick with myself. **

When Sherlock Holmes burst through the lab doors he was carrying a packet of crisps in one hand and a riding crop in the other. "Molly," he said but paused when he saw her, head resting on her arms, slumped uncomfortably over the lab table. He gave a small smile and dropped the crisps on some counterspace and hung his crop up on one of the wall hooks, so this would not be night for desecrating corpses.

She looked positively tiny curled up on the stool, her slightly upturned nose resting on her forearm, mouth ajar with the occasional audible breath slipping from her lips. Sherlock pulled the evidence bag from the pocket of his coat and set it on the lab table, a cut swath of stained and fraying fabric was wrapped up in the plastic. He shrugged off his coat silently, removing his mobile from the pocket and crossed the lab to where Molly slept.

She had her earbuds in which, he noticed, she often wore while she worked to keep herself company in the large empty morgue. He could hear the faint sounds of strumming guitars and he turned the volume down slightly on her phone and laid his thick coat over her shoulders which ellicted a small sigh from the pathologist's sleeping form.

He prepared himself a little station with all the necessary supplies and began to go to work. Fibre samples, sweat stains, copper residue, blood droplets - all were observed and mixed in solutions to discover their origns. He vague shorthand notes on a legal pad beside him, the kind of frantic writing that only the author could comprehend.

Periodically as he worked in peace he would glance up at Molly, her slumber apparently undisturbed despite the uncomfortable position she must have been in. The computer gave a satisfying ding "Search Complete" for the unknown substance the fabric had been doused in.

A tiny groan escaped Molly and her eyes opened, "Bloody labs, cold as..." she grumbled but catching sight of Sherlock she grinned, "Hello stranger,"

It had been six days since she had seen him, a case had called him away from her for the first time since the fall and he was finally back. He looked back at her, "Hello Molly,"

She noticed that he was finishing work and texting - probably his results to John. She pulled his coat off of her and over her arm as she stood, crossing the lab to stand by his side and look over at the results, "So is that it, then? Solve the case?"

"Yes," he put the phone down and turned to her, his attention rapt on Molly now the case was over, "Quite the scandal,"

"Really?" Molly shrugged off her lab coat and hung it on the nearby hook, ignoring the prescence of the crop, "You'll have to tell me about it,"

"I will," he nodded, "but not tonight,"

She looked him over: hair mussed, two-day shirt, slight circles under the eyes - still shockingly gorgeous, but tired nonetheless. "How long has it been since you've slept?" she asked.

"Not too long," he lied, which she saw straight through.

"And eaten?" she raised an eyebrow as she pulled on her coat and the scarf Sherlock had given her so long ago.

"Few days," he admitted.

She sighed, "Come back to mine and I'll cook you something,"

Sherlock smiled and stood, pulling on his own coat and scarf and heading towards the door. He paused and took her hand as she was starting through the door, "Oh, and Molly,"

She turned and he continued, "I missed you,"

She grinned, "Good," she kissed him gently, "because I've missed you too. Now let's get home, it's been the most horrible day,"

"How?" he asked as they walked along the corridor.

"Body of a woman was brought in, half decomposed, oozing practically everywhere," she gave a disgusted noise, "took ages to put her back together."

"That explains the slightly horrid smell," he noted.

"Oh, God you're joking," she lifted the sleeve of her jumper to take a whiff, "Christ, it is awful, isn't it?"

"It's alright," he shook his head, "I hardly see you for the smell,"

"Still," she cringed, "it's quite the bonus. Date a pathologist and get the added smell of death and decay," Her eyes slipped closed, morified that she had leveled the "d word" already - she wasn't trying to rush him, or do anything to him, really. But for Sherlock Holmes she feared that the overhanging label might just drive him off.

"Mmm," he murmured in reply.

There was a silence between them for a few minutes before she said, "What do you want for dinner?"

As he ate his sandwich she decided to get a shower and scrub off the scent of the day, pouring a saved bottle of lemon juice over her hair and washing it twice. If that didn't purge the day from her body she didn't know what would. When she came out of the bathroom, hair half dried and wearing shorts and a tank top Sherlock was already in bed.

His eyes were closed as he rested back in the familiar sheets, the blankets hastily pulled over his half dressed body. She sighed a little and clicked out the lights, resigning to talk to him tomorrow as she slipped onto her side of the bed and rolled on her side to sleep. It felt so comforting being near him again. After almost 5 months of sleeping together every night, either at Baker Street or her flat, the six day abscence was a particularly difficult one.

She felt the bed shift and a warm hand on her waist, "Molly,"

She rolled onto her back to look up at him, "Yes, Sherlock?"

"What you said earlier," he began and she mentally chided herself for being so careless, "that we were, that we are dating,"

"Yes," she murmured, "I know we didn't talk about it, didn't decide to date or anything, be exclusive or any of the... other," she was floundering.  
>He interrupted her, "Isn't that what we've been doing already?"<p>

A smile crept across her face, "Most people would call it that, yes,"

He hummed and continued, "Being exclusive will not be a problem, I trust," he looked down at her, "I believe I fulfill your sexual needs well enough,"

She laughed, "I'd say so, and even if you didn't I wouldn't be looking elsewhere,"

"Why's that?" Sherlock gave her a puzzled look

"Because that's just the way I am," she rolled her eyes, "A one man at a time girl,"

He nodded in comprehension and then said, "I should think being with more than one woman at once would be highly unenjoyable,"

She held back a snort, "Most men would disagree," she quipped quietly.

There was a pause as Sherlock worked out what she meant, when the wheels finally clicked together he murmured an, "Ahh," of understanding and gave a small laugh too.

"So, dating then," she tried the words out on her tongue.

"I would like it if you would refrain from calling me your boyfriend, though," Sherlock noted.

"What would I call you, then? Lover?" she remarked.

"Surely not!"

"Joke, Sherlock, it was a joke!" she laughed and sighed, "That's fine, I won't call you my boyfriend,"

"Good," he murmured, "it would seem a bit..."

"Domestic," she supplied.

He hummed his agreement and pulled her close to him, her back to his chest.

"Glad that's sorted," she murmured.

"Molly, go to sleep now," he instructed, his voice deep in her ear.

"Good night Sherlock,"

"Good night Molly," he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair.

_"I love you," _she slightly added before shutting her eyes and allowing herself to drift into dreamless sleep.

**A/N: I know it's rather short, but it just had to end there. I would expect at least one more chapter tonight, I have a plan on how I'm writing this story out, and I know exactly what's going to happen in chapter 4 and on, but until I get there... it's all a little fuzzy. **

**For the record, I hope you all don't hate me for what I'm going to do in Chapter four... as I'm thinking about it in my head, it feels very typical and obvious, but I think it has to be done. I have a reason for making this decision and I promise the idea is fleshed out and (hopefully) won't seem rushed. And I know all this is vague and means nothing yet, but it will. 3 **

**Please review! I love you!**

**-x**


	2. The Step Forwards

**A/N: Thank you all for the warm reception! I'm so glad to hear you're excited about the fic and here is another chapter! I'm going to try and finish at least the third one today, but I do have an English essay to write and exams to take tomorrow, so I'm sorry if it takes a bit of time for ch. 4. :) **

**Bit of a shorter chapter, but I kind of like it, so I hope you enjoy. **

"Mary Margaret Hooper? Sounds like a nun," Sherlock remarked, running his fingers along her jaw.

"I hardly think I can call myself a nun," she scoffed, "not after that,"

They had been lying in bed the morning after his return, stripped bare and basking in the after glow, when Sherlock abruptly turned and asked her middle name. Now as they laughed over her very modest Catholic upbringing Molly was getting the itch to ask about his family. All their months of constant contact and they hadn't really gotten down to all the serious stuff - the proverbial skeletons in the proverbial closet.

She turned her head upwards to look at him from her position on his chest, "And what's yours?"

"My what?" he raised an eyebrow

"Middle name," she nudged him.

"I don't have one," he answered simply.

Her eyes narrowed, "I don't believe you,"

"It's the truth," he answered, running his fingers along her spine.

"What? Did your parents forget to pick one?" Molly laughed but Sherlock didn't, he sighed and looked at the clock absently.

"I should think not," he murmured, "they've had everything planned out in their lives down to the last moment, I wouldn't be surprised if they had a date set to anticpate their deaths,"

"Oh," she wasn't quite sure where to go with that at first but eventually prompted, "You don't get on with them?"

"They're stuffy and rich, not unlike Mycroft," he gave a wry smile, "but my father had an affair when we were very young and he hurt my mother very much. Otherwise I just haven't factored into their lives very well,"

"They don't approve of your work?" She remembered what Mycroft had said, _playing detective._

"No," he shook his head.

"Hmm," she murmured, "my mother doesn't like my work,"

"Why?" Sherlock looked down at her

"Because I'm up to my elbows in blood and bodies all day," Molly rested her cheek on Sherlock's chest and continued, "and she thinks that a girl should be out in the world being beautiful and posh and away from dead people,"

"Ahh," he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I love her, very much," she sighed, "but sometimes she doesn't understand what I do and why I love it,"

"Your father?" Sherlock broached the subject, "You said he had been ill,"

"Cancer," she nodded, "but he always supported my choices, I suppose I still miss him so much, he was always the balance between my mum and I,"

"And now?" Sherlock prompted.

"And now she's in California with my step-father," she replied, "embracing life, she says,"

There was a pause and Sherlock noted, "You talk to her on the phone quite often,"

"Yes, she gets homesick I think, and I miss her too. I miss being able to go home once and a while and feel like I did before uni," Molly could feel Sherlock's heart thumping in his chest below her and she took comfort in the rhythm, "I told her about you,"

"What did you say?" Sherlock pulled the cover over them, the cold starting to set in.

"I told her we were seeing each other, told her what you were like, what you do," she laughed, "sort of vaguely so she wasn't completely against it,"

"I see," Sherlock was tapping his fingers on her bare arm, it felt like he was playing out a symphony with each tiny brush of her skin.

"Sherlock," she kissed his chest, "since we're asking questions, can I have one?"

"Of course,"

"Have you ever had a... a girlfriend before?" Molly cleared her throat gently and waited for his answer.

"No," came the simple response.

"Oh," she murmured, not surprised by his response.

"What about you?" Sherlock surprised her with that, "There was Moriarty, of course but otherwise?"

"Three besides him, and he hardly counts," Molly frowned, "we went on three dates and he never once tried to kiss me goodnight, which I'm thankful for now, obviously,"

Sherlock chuckled and prompted, "but your three other boyfriends,"

"One from college, Brandon. Another for about a year who it turned out was a good guy but not right for me, and then the last one who I dated for almost three years, and it turned out he was cheating on me, so I hardly call that one a good one." She answered as briefly as she could.

"I see," Sherlock was mulling that thought over in his mind.

Molly yawned gently, ignoring the time on the clock, "What does Mycroft do anyway?"

"Starts wars, insights economic crisis, spies on British citizens," he said as Molly slipped off of him to sit up and stretch.

She laughed, "So a typical job then," she pulled on Sherlock's shirt and padded out of the room, calling over her shoulder, "Breakfast? I'm late for work anyway, the bodies will keep,"

"Eggs," he replied and started to pull on some pants.

When John arrived home from his date that evening Sherlock was studying the wound of an amputated leg on their kitchen table, petri dishes full of bits of flesh and bone spread across the table next to the microscope.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John asked as he hung up his jacket.

"Studying the speed and damage of necrosis," he replied simply, making a few notes in shorthand.

"Where's Molly?" he sat down next to Sherlock and yawned.

"Working late I imagine," he hummed.

"How's everything going with her?" John asked

Sherlock glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes, "Well, I suppose,"

John held in a small laugh and nodded, "Good, thats good,"

"And you're date was sufficient I suspect?" Sherlock questioned.

John smiled broadly, "Yeah she's, she's fantastic,"

"Fantastic like you said Sarah was, or fantastic like Jeanette?" Sherlock smiled wryly without lifting his eyes from the microscope.

John scowled but continued, "Do you remember the case we worked a few months ago? About the East Indian convicts?"

"Of course John, I don't forget cases," he chided, "_The Sign of Four_, I believe you titled it on your blog,"

"Yes, that one," John brushed off his tone and continued, "the woman who came to us, Mary Morstan, I've been seeing her,"

"Ahh," Sherlock lifted his eyes and looked to his friend.

"She's beautiful, and funny, and smart," John was talking to himself more than to Sherlock, but he couldn't stop, "and I think I'm in love with her,"

Sherlock gave a small face at the mention of love, but murmured, "That would explain why you've,"

"Take a day off," John avoiding the deduction and rubbed his eyes.

"John, my mind never takes a day off,"

"Believe me, I know," John sighed and leaned back in the chair, "either way, it's starting to get serious,"

Sherlock gave a small noise in acknowledgement and looked down at the diseased limb on the table, cutting off another skin sample and arranging it on a slide.

John stood and yawned, "I'm off to bed," he said and paused, "is Molly coming by later?" he asked eventhough he knew the answer.

"Probably," Sherlock looked back at the microscope, "she'll let herself in,"

John paused, "she has a key?"

"Mhm," Sherlock murmured.

John shook his head, "You've given her a key? Already?"

"Yes, John, I've just said that I have, is there a problem?" Sherlock looked up at him, exasperated.

"No, no," John shook his head incredulously, "that's just one of those big relationship milestones, I'm just surprised is all, Molly's lovely I don't," he cleared his throat.

Sherlock hummed, "It just seemed convienant, this way I don't have to get up and let her in when she comes by,"

John laughed at the practicality of it, "And I suppose you have a key to her flat?"

"Naturally," Sherlock was clearly bored with the obvious Q&A, "anything else?"

In his head John had a few more: _Moving in together? Buying a cat together? Getting married sometime soon, Holmes? _But he decided against it. "No, no, I'll just be off to bed then,"

"Goodnight John," Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned to the rotting leg

"Yeah, goodnight, Sherlock," John's bedroom door clicked shut and he fell into bed. Watson and Holmes, both getting serious with two girls named Mary. He laughed to himself about the absolutely preposterousness of the situation, how much they had grown since their first case together so long ago.

Sherlock waited until his test results were finished before clicking all of the lights in the flat except for the one by the front entrance and got himself into bed. His mind was calculating results and putting two and two together about various things before falling into a light sleep. An hour later Molly slipped into bed beside him and fell asleep against his chest, everything coming together so naturally.

**A/N: There you are, please review if you wish!**

**Also, a few of you have guessed the turn of events in chapter four, and I'm afraid that some of you might not like it. I'm apologizing in advance, but I have to tell you that the reason I'm writing this fic is to get the chapter four. I've had that in my mind since the beginning, and I just didn't want to jump there without some development, it's taking quite some time to get there, but for me it'll be well worth it. I just hope it is for you too. I'm sorry to be so vague and Mofftiss-ish, but you'll see it when you see it in a few chapters time. **

**Love you all and happy reading. **

**-x**


	3. Getting Serious

**A/N: Wahoo! New chapter. :D I'm loving all of your reviews and I'm so glad that (so far) everyone's been liking it. Also, thanks to those who wished me luck on my exams, I'll need it! :) Happy reading**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except the computer on which I'm writing, sadly. **

Something Sherlock enjoyed about Molly was her ability to be silent when he needed her to be. They could easily enjoy comfortable silence now that Molly wasn't a nervous wreck around him and he wasn't constantly scolding her. They were resting on the couch at 221B, each reading their own books - for Molly a copy of _Breakfast at Tiffany's, _and for Sherlock a book analysing the history and development of tobacco. Every so often Molly would giggle to herself silently at Holly Golightly and Sherlock would let out a tut of disapproval regarding the author's obvious attempts to pander at an ill-educated audience. Their legs were tangled together comfortably on the cushions and since cracking the spines of their books neither had moved an inch.

The lock turned and John Watson climbed up the steps into 221B and pulled off his coat, looking at the pair of them and smiling, shaking his head at the picture.

"Hello, John," Molly greeted, turning her head to the door and smiling.

"Hey Molly," John nodded and realised how often he saw her now. It was almost as if she lived with them sometimes. She had a drawer and a toothbrush and took over Mrs. Hudson's job of cooking for them when they didn't feel like take away, he was surprised to say that he enjoyed her being here. From the looks of it, Sherlock did too.

"How was your date?" she smiled at him knowingly.

"Great," he nodded, "really good," he crossed to the arm chair and sat down, pulling the laptop onto his lap and clicking the power button.

Molly smiled at him and went to return to her book but Sherlock finally looked up and studied John for a moment before saying, "You've slept with her," and putting his nose back into the book.

John coughed and spluttered, "What? Sherlock,"

Molly laughed and nodded, "Even I can tell," she shrugged, "you didn't stay the night?"

"She has family coming over in the morning," John explained, "didn't want to rush anything yet,"

"Yet?" Molly raised an eyebrow, "Sherlock mentioned you might be serious about her,"

He nodded, "She's really lovely,"

"How lovely?" Molly narrowed her eyes and smiled.

John couldn't give her an answer, but he laughed lightly and gave a small shrug, he couldn't even explain how much he loved this Mary Morstan.

"Oh, that much?" Molly laughed musically, clearly teasing John.

Sherlock extricated himself from his position on the couch and stood, "If you two are going to continue chattering like gossiping women, I'll be elsewhere, reading,"

Molly and John watched him go, huffing as he went without so much as a glance backwards at them. They waited until his bedroom door closed with a resounding crack before turning back towards each other.

"He's jealous," Molly noted calmly.

"Of what?" John put the laptop on the side table.

"He's always been number one for you - best friend, flat mate, partner in detecting," she shrugged, "you've got a serious girlfriend now, he's afraid you'll be moving out, growing up and getting properly married or something and you won't be his partner anymore,"

John rolled his eyes, "That's ridiculous,"

"Is it?" she raised an eyebrow, "He cares a lot about you John, more than he does for me,"

"Molly," he chided but she interrupted swiftly

"It's okay, I know it and I don't mind it," she smiled, "In some ways he's still getting to know me, and he cares for me, that I know, but he loves you John, even if he won't admit it,"

John cleared his throat and shifted in the arm chair, "Molly, I,"

"I said it's alright," and she wasn't lying, "I'm not with Sherlock expecting him to change all of a sudden into a perfect, loving, conventional boyfriend - I don't think he'd have the slightest clue how to get there even if he wanted to," she took a breath, "and I love him, so I'm patient and I give him space when he wants it and stay close when he asks me to, it works well for us,"

"I can see that," John nodded, "just so long as you're not catering to his every idiosycracy and letting yourself fall second,"

She smiled, "You're a good friend, John, to both of us," Molly sighed, "and in little ways I think he's learning how to be in a relationship - he asks how my day was and actually listens, for one,"

John laughed, "That's more than I get sometimes,"

There was a pause and Molly looked towards Sherlock's door and then back to John, "If you do decide to marry this girl, or move in with her or anything," she said, "make sure he knows you're not leaving him behind,"

He nodded, "Sherlock's hardly some chapter in my life I can just close," he looked down at his hands and then met Molly's eyes again, "even when I thought he was dead,"

"I feel the same," she murmured, "always will,"

"Mm," John sighed and rose, "Want a cuppa?"

"No, thanks," she stood and dog-eared the book, tucking it under her arm and heading around the couch, "I'm going to go talk to him, or something,"

"Night then, Molly," John nodded, "and good luck,"

"God knows I'll need it," she laughed and headed for the back room.

Lightly rapping on the door she murmured, "Sherlock, you mind if I come in?"

"No," came the reply and she turned the handle and quietly slipped in.

He was propped up against the cushions, his eyes flicking from line to line in the book, his demeanor clearly hardened from earlier.

"You want to talk about it?" she murmured, slipping into bed beside him and pulling the covers over herself, "I think John-"

"Molly, please," he closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Okay," she opened her book to the marked page, "We can read, I was just getting to the good part anyway,"

A small smile played across his features, "Thank you,"

"Shhh," she murmured, "I'm trying to read," she tried to keep her face serious but a tiny smirk betrayed her.

Without another word Sherlock leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple before letting his eyes return on the book before him.

The following day Sherlock and Watson were on a case, a young actress being mercilessly blackmailed by a mysterious ghost from her past. The case was immediately intriguing since the blackmailer in question was presumed to be dead.

Molly expected to be on her own the next few days and took the chance to have some quality time with her few girlfriends and have a chat with her mum on the phone. The latter proved to be a lot of Molly's mother asking her dozens of embarassing questions about Sherlock which she attempted to skillfully maneuver around but just ended up telling her mother Sherlock was on the other line, which he wasn't, and she had to go.

On day two of being Sherlock-less she recieved a picture message to her mobile.

_Can you identify this? - SH_ with an attached image of a grotesque and bloody close up image of a torn apart throat. There was a pencil pointing to a particularly grizzily section and she peered at the image, enlarged it on her iPhone.

_Looks like completely torn apart vocal cords/voice box, I'd say animal bite - MH_

She returned to weighing an obese man's pancreas, holding her breath at the rotting smell, and jotting down some notes before the text alert sounded again.

_Thank you, the case is getting interesting. Blackmailer has been found dead - SH_

She took a seat and sent a text back.

_Accident or murder? - MH_

The alert sounded almost immediately.

_Murder - trained attack dog & human foot prints - SH_

She nodded to herself and sent back another text.

_Hope you find him soon - MH_

She didn't bother to put her phone down, and waited for another text. Finally one came with a satisfying ding.

_Back by tomorow evening - SH_

She dropped the phone down and went back to work, the sooner she finished this autopsy the sooner she could go home to bed and it would be tomorrow. As she worked she felt a dull ache in her back and she longed for the comfort of her bed, just an hour or so and she could stich up the open Y on his chest and push him back into the wall. Beginning to weigh his massive heart she sighed, almost there.

**A/N: Okay, I'm taking a short writing break before diving into composing chapter four. I've been reading all the reviews and I just know that some of you won't like it, so I'm sorry, but it is my story and I know exactly where I'm going with this. I hope that even if you read chapter four and decide you don't like what I've done I really hope you try and continue, there's a lot of character development to be done post ch. 4. I'm going to go watch the new episode of Big Bang Theory and rest my aching hands, then I'll try and get chapter four out to you in a few hours. **

**I hope you liked this chapter at least, so drop me a review if you will! **

**-x**


	4. The Unintended Complications

**A/N: Oh sweet God, here it is... **_**the **_**chapter. The chapter I've been teasing you guys about for the past three, and I'm so nervous for you to read it. I'll shut up now, go forth and critique. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine, I know. Get on with reading.**

Tomorrow evening rolled around and Sherlock had not come back, not to Baker Street or Molly's flat as he usually did when returning from a case. Instead she received a short text message.

_Did not go as planned, updates later - SH_

That was now two days ago, apparently the case had mutated into something with more twists in it than she could imagine. Instead of being disappointed she focused on work and decided that it would make a hell of a story for him to tell her when he got home.

At work as she was writing up a patholgy report when her mobile rang and she looked at the screen, it was John. She slid the unlock bar and pressed speaker, "Hello?"

"Hey Molly," John said and in the background she could clearly hear the sounds of a car.

"What's up? Solve the case yet?" Molly continued to work with the report while listening.

"Not quite," he sighed, "but I'm headed back to Baker Street, Sherlock said he could finish up on his own and he'd be back by tomorrow night. He asked me to call you, he was pretty immersed in thought when I left him,"

"Okay," she clicked save on the document, "has he been eating? It's been a few days,"

"I forced a couple pies on him," John assured and laughed, "how have you been?"

"Feeling a bit run down to be honest," she sighed, "but I've been working a lot, the weekend will help I'm sure,"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, there was a pause and he added, "Well, Molly I'll be back home in a few hours, you can always come by if you need anything. Otherwise, Sherlock will be back tomorrow,"

"Ta," she murmured, "I'll see you soon then,"

"Bye,"

"Bye John," she waited a moment and then clicked off the call, returning her attention to the half finished pathology report. With each word she typed she felt increasingly listless, checking the clock she realised she had been awake almost 36 hours now, unable to sleep the night before.

"Screw it," Molly murmured to herself and saved the file, closing the laptop and packing up her things, staying so late wasn't worth it if everything she wrote was a garbled mess. She was home in under twenty minutes, and without bothering to remove her clothes she crawled into bed and settled into sleep. She would have to wash the sheets in the morning, they would smell of death, but she hardly cared as long as she got to rest.

She woke at eleven the next morning, thankful that it was Saturday and she wouldn't have to tear through her flat like a dirvish to get ready for work. As she was lying in bed her mind began tracing over the past six months. Sherlock dead, Sherlock alive, Sherlock in her bed night after night. She relished in the little ways he would show affection in public, a touch on her back, a squeeze of her hand, though they never held them for more than a moment. He would kiss the top of her head when no one was looking, and when people were, they would share a private, knowing smile. He knew how to comfort her on a bad day and she understood his limits better than most now, they became accustomed to each other quickly and easily. Stretching out her sore body amongst the pillows and white comforters she was starting to feel somewhat refreshed, thinking about Sherlock's kisses and playful nips.

Her mind suddenly stilled, her brain was flipping through pages of her mental calendar, her internal body clock, and anxiety suddenly flooded her veins. How many days had it been? She counted, and then she counted some more, and for good measure she pulled out her day planner and checked again. And there was the proof, weeks back she had underlined five dates in dark red pen, but as she counted the days there was too much time, she was late. For a body that worked like it was on a train schedule, this was highly unusual - fear gripped her.

She stood in the middle of her room, day planner in hand, and put a hand gingerly to her lips. This was certainly not part of the plan, she thought to herself as her hands trembled and her knees felt increasingly weak. She had to be sure.

Moments passed as she sketched out a plan, still rooted to the spot, but eventually she shook herself out of the stupor. "Jesus, Molly, move!" she shouted at herself and broke into action. Tying her hair up quickly she moved around the flat pulling on fresh clothes and hastily brushing her teeth, popping in some gum and slipping on a pair of shoes she practically jogged out of the flat at to St. Bart's.

The cab ride took too long because of mid-day traffic and about a block away she tossed some bills at the driver and rushed to work. Blood test, she decided. It was easier and more decisive so she grabbed herself a kit and hustled into an empty section of the lab.

Shutting herself in she drew a vial of blood and began the necessary tests to determine a yes or no. She waited nervously to discover the results and when she began reading them off the computer she blanched. Elevated hCG levels, positive. Again she felt frozen.

The door to the lab opened and Molly immediately closed out of the results and turned around hastily.

"Molly," her colleague Audrey said, "I didnt know you were working today,"

"I'm not," Molly stood and grabbed up something off the counter, "just needed to pick something up, I'm just headed... home," she gave a false smile and pushed past the woman, "I'll see you after the weekend," she called back.

"Okay," Audrey replied, "Have a good one!"

"Yeah," Molly half-heartadly called back, but she was already in the elevator and on her way to hail another cab. She needed to tell someone, she needed to tell John. Surely he would be able to help her decide what to do, how to tell a man who wouldn't even let her be called his girlfriend this news.

Her dream felt like it was cracking, a spider web of problems bursting on what was once a pretty picture. She threw her arm out into the street and hailed a cab, thankfully she didn't have too much trouble getting one to stop.

"221 Baker Street," she said quickly, "quickly, please,"

The driver grunted in reply and stepped on it, but no matter how quickly he wove through traffic it still felt like it took a year. She checked her watch 12:04, her stomach was churning and her mind whirring with thoughts and scenarios.

It was highly unlikely that Sherlock would sweep her into his arms and proclaim it was the happiest day of his life. Under any circumstances this would be highly unlikely, so she ran through another one. Perhaps he would agree to help her raise the baby? There was no way he would marry her, that she knew for sure, but perhaps contribute? Doubt played in her mind even at this. She could almost read the personals ad now: Single mother of toddler, enjoys long walks around London and dates with people who don't spit up baby food on her blouse.

"Miss?" the cabbie broke through her thoughts, "We're here,"

She thrust some bills at him and pulled herself from the cab, "Thanks!" she called as he drove off and turned to put her key in the door of 221B.

She entered the apartment and immediately called out, "John? Are you here?" quietly adding, "please be here,"

He rounded the wall from the kitchen, "Hey Molly, I didnt know you'd be..." he trailed off at her expression, "What's happened?"

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out, the personals ad flashed across her thoughts again, this time "Loves Cats" was added at the end - the kiss of death. She took a shuddering breath and pressed a hand to her lips, tears finally making their way down her face, "John," she managed.

"What's going on? Is it Sherlock? Did something," he began

"No," she shook her head and reached out to take John's outstretched arm, leaning on him for some support, "I've got some news,"

"What is it?" John prompted again, leading her to the couch and urging her to sit.

She looked up at him through wet lashes, "I'm pregnant," there it was. Out in the open it was a scary word, saying it made it instantly true and took in a sharp broken breath.

John paled, "Oh I see," he rubbed her shoulder gently, "Molly, it'll be alright," but even as he said it, he wasn't sure it would be.

"God, it's awful," she hiccuped

John stilled and worked out a few things in his mind, "Will you keep it?" he asked gravely.

"Of course!" she was no longer sobbing, but tears were still burning down her cheeks, "I could never... I would never,"

"Okay," he soothed again, "all right,"

"He's going to hate me," Molly whispered.

"No, he's not," John squeezed her knee gently, "he could never hate you, he'll be surprised," he was still having trouble believing his own words.

Molly ran her hands over her face and wiped away the tears, "How do I tell him? He just got used to acknowledging us in public let alone being a father,"

John paused at this, "Sherlock, a father," the words sounded insane to him at first.

"I don't even know if he'd want it," she confessed, "if he'd..." she trailed off and started to think through scenarios again, none of them were ending well.

The floorboard outside the flat's front door creaked loudly and Molly's eyes slipped closed, _Please don't let it be him,_ she thought.

John stood, his hand leaving her knee and crossing to the door, "Sherlock?"

And then he was there, standing in the doorway wondering if he should stay or go, a smooth expression of calculating coldness across his face. He cleared his throat, "Yes, right, case solved,"

For a moment John thought he might not have heard the conversation held just a moment ago, but as he studied Sherlock's face he realised he knew, his eyes were full of pain and discomfort, and they were locked squarely on Molly. "Good... good," John awkwardly murmured.

"Well," Sherlock murmured and Molly turned around finally, he noticed her eyes were red from crying. He locked eyes with her, "Well that's that then," and he disapperared down the hall, his bedroom door shutting tightly.

Molly's breath hitched, "Oh God,"

John searched for some comfort to give her, if it were any other man he would have said it was just shock, he'll come round in a moment... but this was Sherlock Holmes, and John was having doubts.

There were a few moments of silence and finally she stood, "I should," she knotted her fingers nervously, "talk to him,"

John breathed a sigh of relief, he was worried she would say leave, and then nothing would be resolved. "Right,"

Molly walked to Sherlock's door and took a few breaths to steady herself, she could do this, she absolutely could. She knocked, "Sherlock,"

There was no reply and she rapped again, "Sherlock, please, we need to talk,"

Again there was no reply and she finally locked her jaw and pushed in the door to the room that she had slept in dozens of times before, a room that know felt foreign to her as she stepped over the threshold. Into the lion's den, as they say.

He was seated on the bed, fingers tapping on his knees, clearly in thought. He looked up, "Molly," a curt greeting.

"Sherlock we have to talk about this," she pressed, "I know neither of us planned for it, but it's happened and,"

"And what?" he snapped.

"And we need to decide something, arrange... something," she swallowed, "I've obviously never done this before, I don't know what needs to be done, I just know... we have to talk, we have to..." she was losing her train of thought, she just needed to know what he was thinking, feeling.

"Why do we?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

She steeled herself, "Because I'm pregnant and because you're the father and I thought you would want some say in this," she paused, "I know it's a shock but now that it's on the table we should just,"

"You should have been more careful," the words cut her, physically pained her.

Her eyes began to fill with tears again and struggled for words, finally she swallowed and said, "It takes two, Sherlock,"

He gave a small snort of derision, "This is not my problem,"

Her eyes watered, "What? Of course it is,"

He shook his head quickly, offering no verbal reply.

She took a steadying breath and looked down at the man she had shared a bed with, bared her soul to. She could no longer recognize him now as he spat the painful words to her, their baby wasn't a child to him, it was a problem, and not even his own. She fished her key ring out of her pocket and unhooked the key for 221B, she gripped it fiercly in her fingers, "You unimaginable bastard,"

Sherlock's eyes flicked upwards at her words and she continued, "After what I did for you, keeping your secret for _months_. Putting up with you for longer, telling myself you did care about someone other than yourself, about _me_. But I was so wrong, Christ, I was so stupid to think that the Great Sherlock Holmes could ever love anyone but himself," her voice was steady and low, full of anger, "and here you sit, nothing but a clever little boy playing grown up, experimenting with detective work, with friendships, with sex. But when responsibility comes around you throw up your hands and cry 'not my fault'. Well you can stay that way for all I care," she threw the key down on the bed beside him, "and you'll never have to think twice about me or _my _child, I won't come after you. I want _nothing _from you Sherlock Holmes, not a God damned thing,"

She turned on her heel, the tears falling after she crossed into the living room and saw John patiently waiting by the end of the hall, his jaw locking when he saw her tears.

"Goodbye John," she managed, "I don't think we'll be seeing each other again,"

"Oh Molly, no," John shook his head and reached out to comfort her, "he's an idiot, a fool,"

"I know," she hiccuped, "and so am I," Molly Hooper turned and jogged down the steps and out the door, turning off Baker Street and hailing a cab as quickly as she could. She never wanted to step foot on that street again.

Upstairs in 221B John was growing furious, after she had gone he pushed into Sherlock's room, "What did you say to her?"

"That it is not my problem," Sherlock responded cooly after a moment.

John wasn't sure whether to hit him or walk out, he settled on something in the middle, "You arrogant prick,"

"John," Sherlock warned, "don't,"

"Why? Because you don't want to hear that you're wrong?" John shouted, "You've just cost her her life and pushed her away because you didn't want to get your hands dirty. You take responsibility for your mistakes, that's what adults do, they accept them and fix them, and stay in for the long haul," John swallowed, his fists balled at his sides, "After everything she's done for you, everything she means to you and you can just shrug it all off, calculate the damage and file her as an old memory. You're not human,"

"John!" Sherlock boomed, "I will not justify myself to you, I have made my decision and I have my reasons, now if you would kindly get out of my room,"

John bristled but stepped out of the door, "I hope you know you've lost her," he said over his shoulder, "even if you try to get her back, she won't come, not after what you've done, this is... this is bloody unforgivable Sherlock,"

There was no reply and John disappeared into his room, furious and wanting to text Molly to see if there was anything he could do. He decided against it, for now he could at least try to let her get some peace.

When Sherlock was sure John was asleep he rose and pulled on his coat, silently exiting the flat like a phantom, and fading into the darkness of the London night. There was only one thing hammering in his thoughts and he had to make it be quiet, he had to silence the look on Molly's face, her stinging words, his gutted feeling when she dropped the key. He couldn't allow himself to stay close to her, severing contact now was the right thing to do, but he had to make her be quiet in his mind. He had to.

He walked and walked until he found the familiar corner he had frequented so often before he began his work as a consulting detective. The man on the corner looked so unchanged, Sherlock felt himself taking a step into his past, a chill ran up his spine.

A prostitute with overly made up eyes and an obvious case of genital herpes bit her lip and tried to beckon him over, an invitation which he happily ignored and pressed on up the street. It didn't take long for him to slip some money out of his pocket and press it into the man's hand, placing his order quickly and gruffly.

"Long time no see," the man said and cheerfully obliged

Sherlock nodded and turned on his heel, slipping the packet of white dust into his pocket and striding back to where he came, his past chasing him, biting at his heels.

**A/N: So there you are. A bit (a lot) of drama and a minor cliff hanger, and I hate to tell those of you that enjoyed it that you'll have to wait until tomorrow afternoon for chapter five. I'm sorry, but there is no way I have the energy for another one. This chapter was particularly tricky for me to write, and I know that Sherlock seemed cold, hateful even, but I have a reason and it will all be explained in detail in a chapter or two. I hope you liked it, I really do, and I hope you don't hate me for getting Molly pregnant. **

**Love you all, drop me some reviews. **

**-x**


	5. The Aftermath

**A/N: Okay, so by popular demand here is chapter five. I recieved a lot of encouraging reviews about the last chapter and I just wanted to thank you all for your support. I hope this chapter makes sense to everyone as far as where Molly's head is as well as Sherlock's. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: You already know it, reference Chapters 1-4 if you've forgotten. **

The sun was streaming through her bedroom window when she woke on Sunday morning, strong arms were wrapped around her as she rested peacefully on his warm chest. It was the best she had felt in ages, and Sherlock kissed her gently on the head, "Morning,"

"Mmmm," she groaned against his chest and stretched, "I could stay like this forever,"

"It is tempting isn't it?" he ran his fingers along her sides and she shivered.

"Are you really happy, Sherlock? About the baby?" she asked, a tentative waver in her voice.

"It's everything I've ever wanted," he hugged her gently.

"Do you think it's a boy or girl?" she snuggled closer and looked up at his pensive face.

"I don't have enough evidence yet to form an assumption,"

"Sherlock," she chided and nudged him, "what do you _feel_? Boy or girl?"

He hummed and murmured, "Girl," he paused, "but that is a guess with no scientific proof, you cannot rely on,"

She pressed her fingers to his quick moving mouth to still his lips, "I know, I know,"

He pressed a kiss to her fingertips and she let her hand fall against his chest, "What do you think?"

"I say girl," she sighed, "I just have a feeling,"

"A feeling..." Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly but the resigned to accept it.

"She'll be perfect," Molly sighed.

"Just like her mother," Sherlock and Molly met eyes and smiled, a flicker of hesitation registered on his face before he murmured, "Molly I... I think that I love-"

_Molly snapped awake. _

She was alone in bed again for the fifth week in row and every night she had this dream. A taunt of perfection held in front of her face and dangled, just out of reach. It beckoned to her and every time she was foolish enough to outstretch a hand she was slapped back into reality. She had done her first doctor's appointment alone, awkwardly fidgiting in the chair in convincing herself that no, Sherlock would not magically appear to hold her hand and kiss her cheek. They would not cry together at the ultrasound and they would not argue over where to buy a crib or how much time she should take off work.

When she woke up in the morning she was almost always gripping what had becoming Sherlock's pillow, sometimes when she breathed deeply she could almost smell him, almost picture him there with her again.

She was nearly three months gone now and there was the smallest of protrusions from between her hips, a slight outward curve that told her she was not alone. A piece of him was here with her. She desperately wished that she did not love him as much as she did, and she was fiercly glad that all contact between them had severed. If he had kept in touch at all without continuing their relationship she wasn't sure if she could handle it. John however checked in with her once a week, a text message that would always ask how she was, if she needed anything. She would always politely reply a variant of "Getting better, no I'm fine,"

An abrupt wave of naseau struck her and she rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, coughing up her stomach contents into the toilet and recovering with a heaving breath. This was becoming a daily thing and she loathed it. Part of her absently imagined Sherlock holding her hair back, rubbing circles into her shoulders and getting her a glass of water. She had to stop this, had to knock off the besotted but scorned lover routine, it wasn't becoming and it was taking away her life.

She had thrown all of his things into the yellow guest bedroom and locked the door, part of her couldn't bear to throw his things away but at the same time she didn't want to go to 221B and return them. For the first two weeks after their split she wore one of his button down shirts to bed, breathing in his scent just to get to sleep at night. It was now rolled in a ball and chucked in the corner of the yellow room collecting dust.

She hated how quiet her flat was now, before when Sherlock stayed over she could at least feel his prescence if he wasn't going on and on about the Scotland Yard's inability to solve a case. She missed cooking breakfast with him and reading the paper across from him. She missed how absolutely comfortable they were and part of her still couldn't wrap her mind around the way he dropped her in a split second.

It was to be expected, she reasoned with herself, she should have seen this coming.

As she dressed for work her cell phone sounded and she glanced at the screen.

_How are you two holding up? Need anything? - JW_

In some ways Molly knew that John was just cleaning up after Sherlock's mess, picking up the pieces he had torn up and left behind. If she wasn't so painfully in love with Sherlock and having his baby she would have wanted to be attracted to John. In another life that would have been the wiser choice, the safer bet, the kinder solution. But unfortuatenly this was not the case. She sighed and typed a quick text back.

_We're fine, and I'll let you know if I do. - MH_

He never nagged her after the weekly check up which she always appreciated.

When she walked to work each morning with a cup of very weak coffee and a danish she would pass shops and newsstands. Every corner had his face, or at the very least the slightly blurry but oh-so iconic picture of him in the deerstalker, _Where is Sherlock now? _one headline read, and she nearly picked it up. She scolded herself for caring and always passed the kiosks by, making a bee-line past where he had staged his suicide and into the building to the comfort of the lab.

Part of her was sick in which the way he had invaded every crevace of her life, the microscopes were always a constant reminder of him, and each time the swinging doors opened she both longed for a dreaded seeing him - but each time she was met with just another fresh faced colleague asking her the same questions on loop.

This life she had stumbled into was wholly unfair.

"He's throwing himself into his work, Mycroft," John said as they sat across from each other at Speedy's Cafe, "One case finishes and he doesn't rest until there's another in hand. He spends all this time in his room and out, tells me that he wants to do this cases on his own,"

Mycroft nodded, "I've noticed the behavoiral changes myself,"

"He's gutted about Molly, I can tell," he sipped his tea, "the sad violin, the sulking, depression, lack of sleep,"

"But he told her to go, did he not?" Mycroft asked.

"Yeah, but there's obviously something off about it," John said, "he kept saying that he had his reasons for it,"

"I'm sure he does," Mycroft glanced out the window of the cafe, at the rainy street outside.

"Perhaps it's something to do with Moriarty? I mean, his body," John started.

"Is in our custody," Mycroft assured, "Moriarty is dead, and his crime ring is broken ever since you two took down Moran. I wish that were the simple answer, a puzzle for Sherlock to solve,"

John nodded, rubbing a hand across his face, "I'm worried about Molly too," he confessed, "I keep in touch as much as she'll let me but this can't be easy for her, and I can never get a real answer out of her."

"We have eyes on her," Mycroft said, "she's perfectly safe, though clearly emotionally traumatised."

John groaned, "Sherlock's made such a mess this time,"

"Yes," Mycroft hummed and then looked up at John, "Have you been searching his things while he's out?"

"As carefully as I can," John nodded, "but he notices bloody everything and it's difficult to find any evidence when he can tell if the door's been opened since he last shut it,"

Mycroft nodded, "Keep an eye on him, a closer eye,"

"Will do," John nodded sharply and sighed, "I should get back before he realises I'm not back yet,"

Mycroft nodded and stood, picking up his briefcase and umbrella, "Please let me know how he fairs,"

John nodded again and turned to Mycroft, "Oh, and will you let me know how Molly gets on? Really? Because her text messages look almost automated,"

Mycroft nodded again and opened his umbrella as he stepped out into the street, "Good day, John,"

Molly was crying at the back of the lab, she had holed herself up in one of the offices and locked the door, tears streaming down her face and silent sobs shuddering her body. She allowed so many things to get to her now, so many reminders of Sherlock circled all around her. Her throat was tight and raw from choking out little sobs, one hand to her face and the other pressed to her stomach. Everything was falling apart.

Somehow she had to keep herself together and each time she had a little melt down she pulled out a mirror patched up her face and glued a part of herself back together. It was getting to be somewhat of a routine.

She was crying now because the body in the morgue was a pregnant woman with mousy brown hair, not unlike herself. She had unzipped the body bag to reveal her 5 month protruding stomach and started bawling, irrational fears crashing down on her like waves as she shook. Her greatest fear was something happening to her or the baby without Sherlock there to help her, and it infuriated her even more that she still felt as though she was leaning on him. After all, _she _had saved _his _life and mustered up the strength to leave him when it was obvious he had no more use for her.

Finally she was able to get control of herself and she wiped her eyes, pulling out a compact and patching herself up like always. Looking somewhat presentable she headed back down into the morgue and approached the dead woman.

Molly studied her carefully before cutting into her flesh, aside from her hair color and fertility status they shared nothing in common and Molly started chastising herself for the overreaction.

"Relax Molly," she murmured to herself, "you've done this hundreds of times,"

Lowering the blade she began her examination of the woman who mysteriously dropped dead in the middle of Trafalgar Square. She began to focus on determining cause of death and meticulously threw herself into her work, she would absolutely find out what killed this poor young woman.

She was running tests on blood samples when Greg Lestrade came into the lab, a pad of paper open in his hand.

"Hey Molly," he greeted warmly and looked over at the woman on the table, "it's a sad one innit?"

She nodded, "It's awful,"

"Have you figured out what killed her yet?" Lestrade asked and tried to keep his eyes away from the dead woman's open skull.

She beckoned to him and picked up the left side of the brain, "You see all this black stuff, there and there," she brushed it lightly with a gloved fingertip, "it's an aneuryism, but the thing is, she didn't have any of the normal triggers, the conditions weren't quite perfect,"

Lestrade shifted, "I thought they could just happen, burst suddenly,"

"They can but there's usually signs that can be observed after the fact, conditions that were present pre-bleed," she noted and brushed her fingers along some gray matter, "I want to say there was some kind of poison or toxin she was exposed to before dying but I'll be able to tell you for sure when the tox panel comes finishes,"

He nodded, "That's just what Sherlock said,"

Molly cringed at the name, "Oh?"

"It was odd though," Lestrade said lifting his eyes from his note pad, "he came, took one look at the body, said poison, and then dropped the case. Said it didn't interest him enough,"

Molly's head snapped up, "He dropped a case?"

"Mm, mhm," Lestrade murmured, "he's been a bit off lately. Don't suppose you know anything about it? You two were... close?"

"Yeah, no I dunno," she shrugged it off and went back around the table to poke at the woman's chest cavity some more, "It's odd but he probably just didn't want to bother," she covered but her mind was shouting - this was not like Sherlock.

"Right," Lestrade clearly detected the degree with which she wanted to avoid the subject, "I'm going to go out and question some more witnesses, will you text me if those labs come back,"

"Of course," she nodded and gave a wide smile. Fake smile, Molly gave herself a mental slap on the wrist, don't try so hard.

Against her better judgement Molly pulled off her blue gloves and grabbed her cell phone off the lab table. She clicked open new message and indicated the sender to be John Watson, she froze. Part of her didn't want to open up this door, but she had to know, just to quiet her own mind if he was alright.

_Lestrade was here, said he was concerned about Sherlock. He dropped a case in the middle? Everything all right? - MH_

Pressing send she shut her eyes tightly and sighed, the door was creaking back open, and she wasn't sure how much more pain she could take.

As John was jogging back up the steps to their flat his phone sounded and he pulled it from his pocket. A new message was waiting from Molly Hooper, his stomach felt slightly uneasy at the thought, she hadn't texted him except in curt response since she left 221B that night in tears.

His eyes scanned the message and he was suddenly worried, it was unlike Sherlock to drop a case. Deny one based on lack of substance, yes - but to be in the middle of a case and give up? Impossible. John hadn't even known Sherlock had taken one to begin with.

Looking around the front rooms of the flat John couldn't see his brooding friend and looked down the hallway, a light peeking out from beneath his door. John steeled himself and headed straight for it, not bothering to knock or give Sherlock any notice. Pushing through into the room John was instantly rooted to the spot.

Sherlock was slumped over in bed, a look of peace on his face and a needle protruding from his forearm. A tourniquet was tied tightly above the elbow, a spoon and lighter discarded on the bedside table where Molly used to set her novels.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" John broke his stupor and pulled the needle from his arm, discarding it on the table and leaning over his friend, one knee on the bed to steady his position checking his friend. He took his pulse which was beating rapidly, beads of sweat were congregated on his brow, and John brushed his curls back to feel his clammy forehead and genly open his eyes to observe his pupils. Clearly in the beginnings of getting high John backed off him and picked up the supplies, tossing them into the bin and grasped his cellphone that had fallen from his fingers when he came into the room.

He dialed three people: Mycroft first, Lestrade second, and Molly third.

**A/N: Dun-dun-dahhhhhh - minor cliffy, I know. I can't stop with them, it's just too easy in the throws of all this drama. I hope you like it the next chapter will be up by tomorrow night, probably same time. I have a seriously stacked day tomorrow and I won't have time to sit down and write until about 6 pm EST here, so I'm sorry for the lengthy break. **

**Also, I just wanted to note, before people start freaking out, that I will not be getting Molly back together with Sherlock this easily. She loves him, so I believe she'll be there for him, but it's going to take him a lot of work to get back in her good graces. Expect a few chapters of angst I'd say. :) I also really want to play around with Sherlock and John's friendship, particularly through trying to get him off drugs again, so I'll focus on that for a bit too I think. **

**Love you all and please give me some reviews. They keep me going. **

**x**


	6. The First Step

**A/N: Right! So, here is the much anticipated next installment. :) I feel pretty awful making you all wait for days since I had been updating so rapidly before - I had a few exams and a lot of projects to get finished and I couldn't get to work on it. Also, I was having a bit of writers block but I finally figured out how to say what I wanted to say. **

**Thanks for all of your reviews and demands for a new chapter, each one gave me the push to keep writing. I love you all. **

**Also, a bit of clarification - It's been five weeks since Molly left 221B, not three months. She is nearly three months pregnant because she was almost two months before the time jump. Okay, on with the fic.**

**Disclaimer: Godtiss owns this, not me. **

There was a small congregation of people in Mrs. Hudson's living room, crowded close together around her small coffee table and discussing how to proceed when Molly Hooper arrived.

She knocked lightly on 221A like John had asked and waited patiently for a shouted, "Come in, it's open!" from him.

She pushed open the door and into the living room where John, Lestrade, and Mycroft were sitting. "What's going on?"

"It's Sherlock," John said.

Molly's stomach sank, "He's not... hurt is he? He's not..." the word _dead_ chipped at the back of her mind.

"No, he's," John trailed off and Lestrade patted him on the shoulder before taking over.

"Molly, what he's trying to say is that there's something you need to know about Sherlock," Lestrade cleared his throat, "some things about his past, it's important you understand them,"

Molly sat on the open arm chair and leaned forward, "Please just tell me,"

"Did Sherlock ever tell you about the first case he worked with me?" Lestrade asked

"No, I mean," Molly was racking her brain to remeber, "he told me that you helped him out, but... he wouldn't say anything more... please, Greg,"

"When I found Sherlock," Lestrade shifted, "he was obsessive about cases, more than he is now - they consumed him, he was taking drugs to stay awake, to keep his mind clear,"

There was a long pause and Molly looked to John, his eyes downcast on his hands. She licked her suddenly dry lips, "What are you saying?"

"He helped me solve a case," Lestrade said, "and I promised not to throw him in jail for possession if he got himself clean - I told him he could consult on cases,"

Molly nodded and waited for more, the dread in her stomach growing.

John looked up, "He's doing drugs again,"

There was a stillness as Molly tried to figure out exactly what this meant. She looked to the boys again, "What kind?"

"Cocaine," came the answer from Mycroft, "he was always looking for a stimulant,"

Molly felt her throat constrict, "How long?" she managed.

John looked her over and then locked eyes with her, "Not sure," he admitted, "I found him today with the needle in his arm and I called you all directly. I'd say its probably gone unnoticed for a few weeks,"

Molly's hand unconciously pressed to her still flat stomach and her eyes grew glassy. John noticed the movement and studied the miriad of emotions that passed over her face in a flicker. Molly's head turned and looked upwards in the direction of 221B, "Is he..."

"Passed out," John murmured, "I took everything and trashed it,"

Molly nodded, "Needles?" she looked up, panic growing in the back of her mind.

Mycroft leaned forward and interjected, "I assure you my brother took every precaution," his eyes flicked down to her stomach and back up to her eyes, his own softening slightly.

She gave a sharp nod, "I need," she stood, "I need a moment I think,"

She pulled herself into the bathroom of the flat and shut the door tightly, turning the lock and collapsing against the sink, her weak legs giving under her. She smothered a sob with a hand towel and heaved in air, this was worse than she had imagined. Clutching the edge of the porcelain sink Molly got control of her breath and processed the information. She could understand why he hadn't told her, and was starting to understand why he had pushed her away, but it was too much. She had a deep urge to go upstairs and take him in her arms, whisper she was home to get him well again.

Fear strangled her though, she had done plenty of autopsies on drug users before, decimated immune systems and broken, frail bodies. The image of Sherlock on her table flickered before her eyes and she felt instantly sick. Turning quickly she dry heaved into the toilet bowl and tried to get the response under control. She finally fell back against the small bathroom's wall and pressed trembling fingers to her stomach.

"He'll get better," she murmured, "don't you worry,"

There was a knock on the bathroom door that shook her from her stupor, "Molly, are you alright?" John's voice came through.

"Yes," her voice broke slightly, "Yeah, I'm coming, gimme a mo,"

She pulled herself up off the tile floor and horrendous pink rug to check over her face and straighten herself out. Her makeup was intacted though it was clear she had cried a bit, and shrugged at her reflection in the mirror, opening the door to confront them.

"Molly," John started but she shook her head

"We're going to help him," she murmured and then found some strength in her voice, "he said some horrible things to me, John. And I know he's hurting right now, but I can't..." she cleared her thickening throat, "I can't have the stress, you understand," she glanced down at her stomach, "If he gets clean and wants to see me, I'll be waiting. I- I love him, you know," she was stil struggling with the words, "if you can..." she trailed off, her headache growing.

"I understand," John nodded, "but maybe if he saw you... he might,"

There was a beat as she thought it over, "I don't know,"

John pulled her aside into the kitchen from the ears of the Mycroft and Lestrade, "If he gets clean, if he apologises to you, would you have him back?"

_Yes! _Her mind screamed without hesitation but her response was not that quick, "He might not want to come, I'm still... pregnant, and that isn't going to change. This is complicated now and I want him clean, I want him safe, but he can't be around our child if he's unstable - if he wants to or not,"

John's eyes softened and his grip on her upperarm loosened considerably to a tender loose hold, "Molly, he's only doing this because he misses you,"

"Then he shouldn't have told me to go," Molly looked away from him.

"He's afraid, Molly," John murmured, "nothing scares the great Sherlock Holmes except the prospect of being a father, and he acted irrationally. He thinks he can never get you back, the both of you,"

Molly let out a small sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry, "I miss him,"

John nodded, "He'll want to be a good man for you both, Molly,"

She looked him squarely in the eyes, "He'll have to be, because I won't have him around if isn't committed - to being clean, to being a father... he can't get bored and decide we're not worth it anymore,"

"I'll tell him," John gave her an encouraging smile, "it will take him some time,"

"I know that," she shifted uncomfortably, "should I..."

"He'll be upstairs, awake and waiting for me. He knows that I know by now," John admitted, "He probably knows you're here, all of us,"

She nodded and Mycroft stood alongside Lestrade before saying, "I think it best we not delay the confrontation any longer,"

There was a collective nodding and humming of agreement before Molly spoke up, "Should I see him, then? I don't want to make things worse,"

"You couldn't," John assured her, "perhaps if he sees you, only for a moment. He likes to pretend he doesn't have a heart, but Molly, you know better,"

She nodded and steeled herself, "Let's go then,"

They approached the door to 221B and John chose to go in first. Upon entering John took in the sight before him, Sherlock seated calmly in one of the arm chairs his face a mask of cool composure.

"John," he nodded.

John cleared his throat, "Sherlock," he took a few steps inside, "I think there's something we need to talk about,"

"Yes, I suppose you'll want to make some suggestions about a recent... lifestyle choice of mine," Sherlock didn't move an inch.

"They won't be suggestions, Sherlock," John's voice grew hard, "you've got a few decisions to make, and I hope you make the right ones."

Sherlock didn't speak, he merely waited for him to continue. During the long pause Lestrade decided this was his territory, having crossed it before. He entered the room, not to Sherlock's surprise and took a seat across from him, "Sherlock,"

Sherlock gave a small nod in acknowledgement and waited for someone to start proposing ideas.

"We've been here before," Lestrade commented, "and I'm going to tell you the same thing I told you years ago: get clean and keep consulting or I will criminally charge you,"

Sherlock gave a small snort of derision, "Really?"

Lestrade leaned forward, "Really. Don't act like a child and dismiss what we're trying to do for you, and I'm reaching further than most cops would to help you, you will be getting clean or getting put in jail,"

Sherlock's jaw locked and he looked to John who murmured, "I'll be here to help with everything, but if you don't get yourself clean I won't be living here anymore, I won't help you consult anymore,"

Sherlock stayed cool, his face still blank and emotionless. Mycroft followed the pattern and walked into the flat, his umbrella hooked onto his forearm and his eyes carrying the typical Holmes cool composure that Sherlock was sporting so well.

"Brother," he nodded in greeting and stood behind John and Lestrade's seated positions, "you must think of Mummy,"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Mycroft please,"

The dismissive behavior didn't phase Mycroft who continued, "Don't act like a child, Sherlock. Besides, there's someone else that might add a bit more... _incentive_ for you to get well," His eyes turned towards the door.

Molly was hesitating, her hands trembling and her stomach knotting together more tightly. She couldn't take the first step, her whole body was screaming at her to run back to her own flat and bury herself deeper in comforters and pillows. Mycroft gave her a nod and she gathered some strength. As she walked into the room she wasn't sure she could feel her body moving, it felt like she was floating, and surrounded by fear.

His collected face fell for a fraction of a second and then recovered instantaneously, only John caught the falter and he suddenly knew the plan would work. This would be Sherlock's tipping point to get clean, he could feel it.

"Miss Hooper," Sherlock nodded curtly and John internally cringed.

The anger she had been focused on was suddenly bubbling up again and her lips pursed as she nodded slightly, "Sherlock,"

"Come to try and convince me?" He asked, "Or did John bully you into coming? More useless fuel for the fire?"

"Stop it," Molly said, her eyes raising to look at his. She studied him for a moment, his eyes were tired and red around the rims, his face a bit more sallow than she was used to, his impeccable grooming not quite so anymore. "Stop saying things you don't mean, I'm tired of this,"

A flicker of recognition washed over his features as she continued, "Whatever has got you acting like this, it's got to stop. You're acting hateful, Sherlock and it's not you."

He scoffed under his breath and looked away, shifting in his seat.

She took a few steps forward and soon she was directly in front of him, "Either way I won't watch you do this,"

"It's quite the manageable fixation," he argued calmly.

"Cocaine is not managable." She crouched in front of him to try and catch his eyes, "I've cut open bodies after overdoses of cocaine, it tears you apart - it changes everything you are, and I hate what it's doing to you now,"

He turned his head to look at her, "Why do you still care?"

"Why do you think?" she placed a hand on his clasped together ones.

His hands tightened as if to recoil from her touch but he allowed the contact and looked over her as she looked up at him. "You've put on three pounds,"

A small smile played across her lips, "I know,"

His cold calculating eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and in that moment Molly saw hope. She clung to it and tigthened her fingers around his, "You need to do this, Sherlock. You need to get yourself sorted, I'm disappointed and I'm angry with you, and sometimes I wish I hated you," she murmured, "but despite all that I'm here because you need to get yourself sorted. If not for us then for yourself,"

His eyes flicked over her and his lips pressed together tightly.

"What you're doing to yourself is stupid," he focused on her eyes as she spoke, "it's the most stupid thing I've ever seen, and you're a genius, Sherlock. Stop acting like a fool and get back to work, to life. If you don't... I don't know if any of us will be standing by and watching you fall," She glanced over her shoulder at John and stood up, taking a step back from him.

He gave her a small nod and looked away, not an argument from him could be made to change her mind.

"I should," she cleared her throat and backed away, "I should go now,"

John walked her to the door, "Thank you,"

"You'll tell him what I said?" she looked up at him.

"Yes, of course," he promised.

"Let me know how he gets on," she licked her dry lips, "I wish I could do more," she looked over to him, his jaw locked and clearly understanding he was being talked about.

"You shouldn't put stress on this early," John confirmed her feelings, "it's dangerous for you both,"

She felt her eyes prickling with tears, "Keep him safe, okay?"

He nodded, and watched her turn abruptly and rush down the steps. As she hit the street she sucked in a deep breath, as if she had just broken the surface of the ocean after drowning. Her eyes were blurry and her body was aching, the headache pounding behind her eyes. In the span of an afternoon her life had once again been turned upside down by Sherlock Holmes. Taking a cab home and collapsing onto her own couch, Molly sobbed.

With shaking hands she took a half empty glass of water in her hand and threw it against the far wall, she let loose a cry as the glass splintered off in different direction and shattered as the connected with the floor. With tears snaking down her face Molly chided herself and got down on her knees to clean up the glass, water seeping through her trouser knees and chilling her. With broken shards of glass in her hands and tears rapidly falling Molly Hooper sat back and started to pray for the first time in years to a God she had made a stranger of.

At 221B John was watching Lestrade and Mycroft leave, Sherlock hadn't uttered a word or shifted since Molly left a half an hour before.

John sat across from him and murmured, "She'll have you back if you straighten yourself out,"

Sherlock's head turned minutely towards John, his ears perking up but his demeanour staying callous, "And why do you think I'd still want her?"

"Stop being a git," John said coolly, "When are you going to realise that Molly made you a better person and you pushed her away because you started to really _feel _something for her? You're going to be a father, Sherlock, and I know that terrifies you," John ignored Sherlock's angry expression, "but it terrifies her too and you're leaving the woman you care about to be frightened all on her own," John leaned forwards, "for both your sakes you've got to get yourself under control."

"John," Sherlock's voice was small as he spoke, "what if the child is like me?"

Understanding washed over John's features, "So what if it is?"

"Don't patronize me," Sherlock commanded, a touch of anger rising in his tone.

"Then it'll be brilliant," John said easily.

"And the drugs?" Sherlock turned his head towards John more, his eyes remaining downcast.

"Then you teach it not to do them," John murmured, seeing the vulnerability of his best friend showing clearly.

"John, I don't know if I could be a father,"

"Then that's something you need to decide," John sighed, "you can take all the time you need to figure that out, too. But you can't go to Molly unless you're sure, because leaving her twice will tear her apart her and ruin that child's life. You're either in or you're out, there's no room for middle ground,"

Sherlock nodded quickly and ran a hand over his face, "I hope it's like Molly," he paused.

John laughed and Sherlock's head snapped to look up at him, "What?" he demanded.

"You're already acting like a father," John smiled, "worrying is the backbone of parenthood,"

Sherlock swallowed, "I need sleep,"

"Probably a good idea," John murmured, "tomorrow is going to be difficult,"

There was a long pause and then Sherlock looked up, "You won't leave?"

"Never," John promised him.

"You should probably look in the skull, John," Sherlock stood and started in the direction of his room.

John groaned and stood, the long day weighing on him heavily. As the door to Sherlock's room clicked shut he grabbed the skull off the mantle and overturned it, tucked inside the cranium there were a few packets of white dust hiding there. John pulled them out carefully and took the packets into the kitchen. Turning on the faucet he poured each packet down the drain and watched the water drag the drugs away.

**A/N: I hope it was worth the wait! 3 Please drop me a review. **

**Also, I know Molly might seem a bit cold, but honestly, after what Sherlock said to her I would too. She still loves him, so she's leaving the door open, but I think it would be a mistake for her to completely forfeit everything she said and is trying to do just because Sherlock needs her. There's a level of balance needed, and I think John can help him better than Molly can in this situation. **

**Next chapter will be written either tonight or tomorrow morning depending on my schedule, so expect to see it no later than 12 tomorrow EST. :) **


	7. The Greatest Game of All

**A/N: A rather short chapter in my opinion, but I ended up quite liking it. I hope you all do too! 3**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, come on, we've been through this. **

John barely slept that night, his mind awake and waiting for the withdrawal symptoms to start up in his friend. He had been looking over article after article about cocaine withdrawal and the ways in which to combat it - in many cases the jitteriness and paranoia could last a lifetime. Thankfully Sherlock had only been using for a few weeks and it was still early enough to pull him out of the deep end, or so he had gathered from a forum.

It was almost late in the afternoon the next day before the harshest symptoms started to set in. John was making a pot of tea and considering texting Molly when he heard it. The sharp crack of something breaking and a gruff voice shouting, "John!"

He left the kettle and dashed to Sherlock's room. As he pushed through the door he took in the sight, the bedside table toppled to the floor with the debris spread out around it. Sherlock was doubled over on the floor, his face covered in a sheen of sweat and his hands gripping the carpet, "John!"

Dr. Watson jumped into action, "Come on Sherlock," he gripped him under the arms and pulled him into the bed again, "Just try and breath, I'll get you something,"

Sherlock's body was shuddering with cold as he gripped what used to be Molly's pillow and groaned, "I always hate this part," he shuddered.

John went to the kitchen and poured him a cup of tea and then wet a washcloth with warm water. When he returned to Sherlock with the necessary supplies he sat on the edge of his bed, "Relax, lie back,"

Sherlock rolled slightly, his teeth grinding together as he gripped the bedsheets, "You wouldn't happen to have any morphine, would you?" He groaned through his teeth.

"Sherlock," John warned, "this doesn't last long," he lied, "as long as you're strong enough to fight it off. It's a mental thing, you know that,"

Sherlock jerked his head in a nod, "This had better be worth it,"

"You know it will be," John placed the warm washcloth on his head.

Sherlock would have protested but it was honestly soothing so he bit his tongue and let his best friend try and care for him, "It's going to get worse before it gets better,"

"I know," John nodded, "Try and relax and think of Molly, it'll be over before you know it,"

Sherlock barked out a pained laugh, "Right,"

"Exactly," John picked up the cuppa, "Tea might help,"

"No," Sherlock shook his head, "I just... no,"

"Alright, alright," John nodded and dipped the washcloth back in hot water and rang out the excess fluid before returning it to his brow, "Do you need anything?"

Sherlock shook his head and hissed in discomfort.

John looked up, "I'll be right back, alright?"

Sherlock looked up at him and gave a small nod to which John smiled at him and quickly left the room. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and sent a quick text to Molly.

_The drugs are getting out of his system, he seems determined to get through it. He's okay for now and I'll update you later. - JW_

He waited for a few moments and his phone vibrated in his hand. He looked down at the new text message and smiled.

_If you need me to bring anything over let me know. Please let me know how he gets on - MH_

He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and fixed himself a cup of tea, trying to prepare himself for the long night ahead. When he returned to Sherlock's bedside the washcloth was tossed on the floor and he was up to his neck in blankets, shivering underneath them.

Sherlock groaned and gripped his arms tighter together, "It feels like I'm being eaten alive, John,"

"It's all in your mind," John replied, putting his tea down and sitting on the bed with Sherlock.

"I know that!" he snapped, "And I know Molly is not sitting in the corner either, but I can still see her,"

John glanced to the empty chair in the corner and back to his friend. In his mind he checked off the withdrawal symptoms: Shaking & fever, check. Coke bugs, check. Hallucinations, check. "What is she doing?"

"Crying," Sherlock replied, "I don't like it, make it stop John."

"Close you eyes," he commanded, "She's not there and you know that. Logic it out, think it through,"

Sherlock did so, his body trembling as his eyes stayed glued shut. John moved further onto the bed and pulled Sherlock into his arms, tightly holding onto him to stop his unconcious scratching at the imaginary biting bugs, "Calm down,"

Sherlock's hands stilled and John held him by the wrists and now only his body trembled as he groaned every few moments, "John, I..." he hissed in pain, "thank you for everything,"

"I know, I know," John hushed him, "just relax and try and get through it, try and sleep,"

Sherlock scoffed but nodded and kept his eyes closed, honestly afraid of the sobbing Molly in the corner. He was starting to block out the sound of her make believe whimpers and focus on her serene face. The expression that he had appraised so long ago in the warm light of her apartment, makeupless and clean, just before he started to truly want her. His mind focused here and away from the insects who were subcutaneously niggling about his body. His mind was beginning to clear itself.

Several blocks away at St. Bart's Molly was packing up to leave for the day. She had begun to wear Sherlock's scarf again and relished in the familiar feeling of it around her neck, it was a safety net. As she locked up the lab and began to walk home her mind mulled over everything that was happening. She knew that Sherlock must have been in pain today, withdrawal was a difficult thing and part of her wished that she could be with him, but something held her back. Would he want her there? And even if he did, could she handle it?

As she walked she pulled her coat tighter around her and shivered. As long as he took some time to get properly clean she was sure she could have him back, she was almost dumbfounded at the idea of accepting Sherlock back and not the other way around. The whole situation was still baffling to her.

Climbing the steps to her flat she realized how long it had been since she had had a proper cup of coffee and internaly groaned, she would have killed for a bit of caffeine. After getting settled in the apartment she pulled on some slippers and a heavy jumper and fixed herself a pot of very weak mint tea. She groaned at the decaf label as she took a sip and started in the direction of her bedroom. Her back was aching and her whole body was fatigued from stress, crying, and the morning ritual retching. She needed a good book and a good sleep, she had the day off tomorrow and things would be looking up then.

As she passed by the guest bedroom door she paused, staring at the door handle for a moment and considering it. She hadn't opened the door in weeks, she was avoiding his drawer of things and avoiding the memories. She supposed that now, if he sucessfully got off the drugs and wanted her back like John had said, this room would have a tenant again.

She cracked the door open and let the light from the hall fill it before taking a few steps in and clicking on its own light. She looked about the room, exactly as he had left it with the exception of Sherlock's shirt in the corner that she had thrown in ages ago. She set her tea on top of the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. A pair of pants, two shirts, some trousers, black socks, and a belt. She ran her fingers along the edges of the dark shirts collar and remembered the last time she had seen him wear it.

He had cooked her dinner, the sleeves of the charcoal shirt were rolled up as he finished the coq au vin and instructed her to get settled at the table. She did as he asked and when she cut into the meal she knew he was a skilled cook. When she asked him how he knew how to make such delicious food he had smiled and replied, "Cooking is like chemistry, once you know each individual molecule you can combine them to make something new," It was this comment that had caused her to abruptly finish her wine and ravish him on the kitchen floor, not that he objected in the least. When they finished, lying there on the tile floor they were laughing at the wasted food, completely content to stay there all night. Sherlock had propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at her, "Care for some dessert?" he said with a grin and the ravishing began again. When all was over she had slipped on his charcoal shirt and taken him to bed, leaving the half eaten coq au vin chilling on the table.

Waking out of the memory Molly smiled and began to shuck off her clothes, deciding to pull on the familiar shirt and savor it's comfort. She left her clothes lying there on the floor and took her cup of tea to the bedroom where she settled down in bed and opened a book on her lap. Though she tried to read the text wasn't distracting enough from the thoughts of Sherlock, only blocks away and going through something she could never have imagined.

Molly settled her hands around her small protruding belly and smiled, even if Sherlock couldn't make it back to her, at least she had a piece of him with her forever. It was this idea that comforted her enough to let her sleep.

Sherlock woke with his back to a snoozing John, his skin still feeling like it was vibrating, but his mind infinitely clearer. He sat up quietly and pulled himself from the bed, creeping out of the room silently and slipping into the bathroom. He studied his face for a moment and observed the obvious changes now that he was sober enough to do so - obvious signs of sleep deprivation. Red-rimmed eyes, slightly sunken cheeks, a pallid complection that was just beginning to regain some color. He flicked the shower on and didn't bother checking the temperature before stripping out of his clothes and diving into it.

The spray loosened his muscles and numbed his tingling flesh as he began to allow himself to think again.

_ Molly. Molly. Molly. _

Yes, he did want her, badly. The thought became increasingly troubling to him - before the pregnancy Sherlock could want her all he wanted without much threat of becoming overly attached. Now things were complicated, he had never given much consideration to the idea of a child before. He was having a difficult time picturing himself with a toddler on his knee reading inane children's stories and taking them to their first day of pre-school. Could he really stick it out for eighteen years? - for life? He had no doubt in his mind that Molly would prove to be a wonderful mother, she was caring and gentle and would easily slip into the role of single working mother and caregiver. Though he frowned at the idea of Molly as a single mother, he had often heard this was a difficult job. After all, his own mother basically raised the two Holmes boys without much assistance from his philadering father.

Eventually Molly would find a father for their child, he was sure of that. She was pretty and when not stumbling over her words, quite charming, most men would jump at the chance. He thought back to the Christmas party months and months ago and the way Detective Inspector Lestrade had looked at her when she took off her coat and revealed a very grown-up Molly. He hadn't liked it then and didn't like it now.

The water turned cold on his back as he stayed lost in thought and he groaned, shutting the spray off and slipping on his towel and robe. He once again he stood in the bathroom in front of the mirror but instead of looking at himself he found himself looking at Molly's toothbrush that he couldn't bring himself to throw away. The shockingly pink brush was the only glaring reminder of her prescence in the flat besides a small drawer of clothes that he had kept closed since she left. He picked it up and held in in his palm, his thumb gently running over the soft bristles. Something in his chest ached, he was missing her. Now with his sober mind he was beginning to feel eveything all over again, the brush of her lips against his neck, her warm breath against his chest, the musical sound of her laugh. He put the toothbrush back in its place quickly and ran a hand across his face, there was no way of denying it anymore. He needed Molly Hooper, and he needed their child too. He couldn't quite think of anything more glorious than a beautiful, clever, smiling combination of the two of them.

There was a loud knock on the door, "Sherlock are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine, John," Sherlock replied and opened the door.

John studied him with narrowed eyes for a moment, "What's got you in a good mood?"

"I've made my decision, John," he announced with a small smile, "I'm going to be a father,"

John smiled and laughed, "Well that took you long enough,"

Sherlock scowled at his friend but clapped his hands, "This might just be the greatest game of all,"

**A/N: So that's it! He's made his choice! thank god and finally. Now, just to preface the next chapter, he will not be running over to her flat and into her arms all of a sudden. He's not finished with getting over his cocaine addition and he needs time to do this. I just didn't want to get a ton of messages about hwo he's recovered too quickly. :) **

**Either way, things are finally looking less angsty (though I promise, I'm not quite done with the angst... I have a few more twists left up my sleeve if you want 'em) and they have both rediscovered their love / caring for each other. ;) **

**Drop me a review, I love you!**

**x**


	8. Not For Long

**A/N: HOLA! Okay, so there were maaaaaaaaaaaaany reviews today and I just wanted to say thanks to each one of you. You're all brilliant and I thank you. **

**This chapter jumps forwards a month in time, and I know the news that Molly receives will seem sudden and out of left field, but honestly, this type of news is like that in real life too. Also, I truly believe it would take something like this to kick Sherlock forwards into going to get her back. :) **

**Disclaimer: You know the drill, now get to reading!**

A month later Molly was sleeping soundly when she was awoken by the shrill ring of her mobile at three in the morning. She groaned and rolled on her back, reaching haphazardly over and gripping the vibrating phone, looking at the number she realised it was international and clicked answer.

"Hello?" she murmured, sleep still heavily hanging on her words.

"Oh, I'm sorry it's sounds as if I woke you up," an American woman's voice came through the line, "Is this Mary Hooper?"

She sniffed, "Mary's my mother, call me Molly,"

"Right," the woman paused, "Molly, I'm calling from California,"

"Uh-huh, can I help you with something?" Molly pulled herself into a sitting position and laid a hand ontop of her slightly rounded stomach.

"You see, Ms. Hooper, I'm from Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles," she said, "and I have some news for you,"

Molly was pretty sure she misheard her, "I'm sorry, you're from where?"

"I'm a doctor, Molly," she cleared her throat, "three days ago your mother and step father were brought into the E.R., they were in a car accident. Sadly their injuries were too severe and they didn't make it. We've been searching for a contact number for days, I finally found you and I wanted to call, your mother's body is being sent back to England as we speak,"

She laughed, "I think you've got the wrong number," her mother wasn't dead, she was sitting in her flat in L.A., perfectly fine.

"Ms. Hooper, I understand that this comes as a shock, especially because it took us so long to get in contact, but I assure you, it's no mistake. Your mother was killed in a car accident. Her body is being sent to the specified mortuary in England, I would suggest that you think about organizing her funeral as soon as you can," the doctor's voice overly apologetic.

Molly stilled, the reality beginning to creep in, she clicked on her bedside light, "I'm sorry, you're telling me my mum is dead?"

"Yes, Ms. Hooper, I'm sorry I woke you with the news but I thought you'd want to know," the doctor murmured.

"W-When will she get to England?" Molly found herself ask.

"The day after tomorrow I would guess," she answered, "the motuary is supposed to call you as soon as she arrives so you can arrange the funeral and things,"

"Thank you," she replied automatically, "I should... I should go,"

"I'm so sorry for your loss," the doctor said.

"Yeah," Molly clicked the phone off and sat amongst her bedsheets for a moment. She sat forward, her legs crossed Indian style and her hands rested on her concave stomach.

She retched over the side of the bed onto the wood floor.

Tears came then, rushing down her cheeks as she sobbed and pulled herself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. She spit into the sink and sucked in a breath, her mouth tasting stale and bitter.

She pulled out the necessary cleaning supplies and found herself on her hands and knees cleaning up her own sick, her head pounding from the crying and her back aching from the position on the floor. As she sopped up the last of it and threw it in a bucket she sat back on her heels and pressed the backs of her hands to her lips, shuddering breaths in and out.

Why hadn't she been called sooner? Why hadn't she known? Felt it somehow...

Molly sat back against the nearby wall and dropped her hands to cup her rounded stomach, choking sobs bubbling through her throat until no more would come and she finally sat exhausted from crying, mind blank, body numb.

It was seven in the morning when her eyes opened and she realized that she had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep up against the wall. Somehow she wished it was just a nightmare but there in front of her was a bucket and washtowels and her tongue still had the stale quality of a post-vomit mouth.

A funeral. She had to plan a funeral. A strange thing since her mother had been living in California for years, her friends were there - she had almost no one to speak of in England except for Molly. She was honestly a little surprised that she even wanted to be buried here. Molly struggled with the idea of hosting a memorial service that no one would come to, she could picture it perfectly: standing in front of a church of two in the black dress she had worn to Sherlock's funeral and giving an awkward but heartfelt eulogy that no one would care about. There was no way she would be subjecting herself to that. Plus there was no way she could still fit into that dress. Deciding immediately against it she decided that a simple burial and grave-side prayer would suffice. Her mother would understand, after all, Molly was not made of money and it's not as if her mother would have much to leave her.

She had a friend who worked at a funeral home that she had gone to university with, she might be able to help her with the necessary particulars of putting together a funeral. Molly knew absolutely nothing about planning a burial other than what she had seen in films and all of those were non specific.

She grappled for her phone and collapsed back into the position she held on the ground and scanned through her contacts. Locating the woman's name on her phone she pressed the green button and waited.

"Hello?" A cheery voice came through the reciever, Claire always was a morning person.

"Hey, Claire it's Molly, Molly Hooper," she tried to sound cheerful too but it sounded awkward, "I know we haven't spoken in a really long time but I have a bit of a favour to ask,"

"Molly! It's been so long!" she exclaimed, "What do you need?"

"You see," Molly started, "My mum, she was living in America and got in an accident, they're sending her... her um, body back to England now, and I have to plan a burial... I don't know the first thing, and you- I mean, I,"

"Oh God, Molly," she murmured, "I'm so sorry, of course I can help. Are you well enough to meet for lunch? I could try and help you organize everything then if you want, I'm so sorry,"

Molly let out a long breath, "Thank you so much, I didn't know who else could help, I would love to meet,"

"Do you remember the old cafe we used to go to at uni?" she asked

"Of course I do," Molly smiled faintly at the memories.

"Around eleven? We'll get everything sorted then, don't worry at all," Claire murmured.

"Okay," Molly took in a shaky breath, "Thank you so much,"

"Of course, of course," Claire's voice had softenend considerably and had now taken on a pitying tone, "we'll take care of everything. I'll see you at eleven,"

"Okay, eleven," Molly repeated blankly, "I'll see you,"

The phone disconnected and Molly looked down at her stomach, she hadn't even had the chance to tell her mum she was pregnant. She would have loved to be a gran, might have even come home to see the baby. Molly closed her eyes and felt tears prickling at them once again.

Sherlock's health had improved considerably over the past month and Lestrade had even come by and asked for a few pointers on a case or two. Lestrade pretended to be completely dumbfounded but he and John both knew they were keeping Sherlock sane as he tried to continue his month of sobriety.

This morning Sherlock and John were each on their laptops, immersed in blogging and research respectively when the John's mobile rang.

"It's Molly," he cleared his throat and clicked on the call, "Hello?"

Sherlock looked up from his typing and studied his friend as he spoke.

"John," Molly began, "I, um, I've got some... news, I don't," Molly sounded lost to John as he listened.

"What's going on?" John leaned forward and Sherlock was suddenly at attention.

"My mum, she's passed," Molly couldn't quite palate the word _died _yet, "I've organized a sort of... burial the day after tomorrow - my friend helped me organize everything and my mother's body is already back from the states, I just... I just wanted to ask if you would be there. I need someone familiar, I can't,"

"Molly, it's alright," John murmured, "I'm so sorry about your mum," he glanced up at Sherlock who relaxed considerably when he leanred it was not any of the 300 scenarios that had flicked through his head a moment ago

John continued, "Of course I'll go,"

"Thank you so much," Molly was getting tired of saying this phrase already, "it's at three o'clock," she finished giving him the location and plot number.

"Okay," John hummed.

There was a pause and then Molly found the strength to ask, "How is Sherlock?"

John looked up at Sherlock, "He's good, Molly, really good."

"Well that's good," Molly gave an awkward laugh, "one piece of good news I can hang onto,"

"Yes you can," John sighed, "Do you need anything now Molly? I can come over, I could bring you something,"

"No, I just need to be alone for a while I think," Molly replied automatically, "As long as you're there for the funeral. I don't want to push Sherlock, so be careful what you tell him. I don't want him to do anything if he's not ready,"

"I understand," John murmured, "I'll handle it,"

"Ta," he could hear her shifting, "I'll just..."

"Molly, how are you and the baby holding up?" John asked, knowing full well that Sherlock would be interested.

"We're just fine," Molly assured, "I'm trying to keep myself relaxed, keep the stress off, but we're alright,"

"Okay, good," John was toeing the line between friend and doctor, "If you need anything at all, even if you need a chat, you call me alright?"

"Course," she sighed, "Thank you,"

"I'll see you Saturday," he murmured.

"Okay," there was a pause and she finally murmured, "Bye then,"

"Bye,"

When the phones disconnected John rubbed a hand across her face, "Jesus she's been through too much,"

"She's fine though, yes?" Sherlock's foot was tapping wildly, a new tick since his recent bout of drug addicition.

"Physically, yes," John sighed, "she and the baby are healthy. But emotionally, I mean, I don't know the relationship she had with her mum but she sounded pretty disconnected,"

Sherlock gave a nod, "Her mother lived in California, they spoke on the phone frequently,"

"I see," John nodded, "she wanted me to go to the funeral,"

There was a beat and then Sherlock looked up at John, "I would like to go,"

"Do you feel ready enough?" John asked.

"I felt ready two weeks ago," Sherlock leaned back, "I waited because you asked me to, because you said Molly was delicate. I've been working cases, I've been getting back to normal," he paused, "She needs me now,"

John nodded, "Okay,"

"Okay?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Yea, okay," John replied, "she does need you, and prolonging this is only going to be harder for her, for both of you. Plus, you're driving me insane shut up in here all the time,"

"Well perhaps if you weren't quite so boring off cases," Sherlock scoffed.

"Boring?" John rolled his eyes, "please,"

Sherlock smiled faintly and pressed his palms together, resting his fingers against his lips as he thought. He was ready to see her, absolutely.

On the afternoon of the funeral John and Sherlock were stuck in traffic en route to the burial site. Sherlock was obviously irritable at the prospect of seeing Molly again and John was attempting to keep him under control. As they arrived at the same cemetary where Sherlock's empty coffin had once been buried they climbed out of the cab and started towards the correct plot.

"Be delicate," John reminded him.

"John," Sherlock huffed, "I can handle this,"

John said nothing further, but decided to stay close in case of emergencies or accidents. Their pace slowed for a moment as they saw Molly some distance away, her back to them as she looked into a deep cut grave. Sherlock swallowed and began to forge ahead, his steps silent as he started to close the distance between them.

John lagged behind to watch, silently preside over their reunion.

Molly was having trouble crying at the grave, all she could think about was how tired her body was and how much she wanted to take off these shoes and curl up in bed for a year. She heard footsteps behind her but she was too tired to turn around, John was late but at least he had come. She had thought that the burial would have been more difficult for her than it was.

A warm, familiar hand slipped into hers and she stiffened. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she turned her head and looked up, taking in the sight ofthe familar coat and scarf until she studied his face. His face had regained it's proper color and his eyes were perfectly clear and crystalline. He was truly better, he was truly here.

She gave him a small smile and a nodded as tears pricked her eyes.

He didn't say anything but instead gave her hand a comforting squeeze and smiled gently. He reached down and took a handful of dirt from the pile and held it out to her, she took it gingerly and stared into it for a moment before reaching her hand out over the grave and watching the dirt fall from her fingers, "Goodbye Mum,"

She turned towards him and he studied her protruding stomach, a smile playing on his lips despite the circumstances. He reached out slowly and Molly watched as he placed his hand on the side of her stomach, his fingers warm and comforting. She couldn't fight the urge any longer and she smiled up at him, her own hand laying over his own, "Hello stranger,"

"Molly," he murmured. God how she had missed his voice.

"I'm so glad you're here," she let out a shuddering breath and leaned into his chest abruptly. She breathed in his scent deeply and a small tearless sob escaped her throat.

Sherlock's arms enfolded her, one hand stroking her hair and the other strongly wrapped around her back. He kissed her hair and leaned his cheek against her head, "I've missed you Molly," he confessed, "I am so sorry,"

"You didn't kill her," Molly mumbled through his scarf that her face was now buried in.

"No, not for that," he sighed, "for everything else, I was foolish. I should have never let you leave that day,"

She nodded against him, "That's right, you're an absolute idiot,"

"I am," he admitted, "in some things,"

She chuckled against him and gripped him tighter, "Can you take me home, Sherlock? I can't be here any longer,"

"Of course," his hand stroked her hair, "Which home?"

"Baker Street," she leaned away to catch his eyes, their arms still holding each other, "I've missed it so much there,"

"Okay," he kissed her forehead, "let's go home,"

Molly turned to look at her mother's grave for a moment and wiped away a tear, "I already miss you, Mum." she murmured and then added, "You would have so liked him, too, I know it,"

Sherlock gave her hand a squeeze and she turned back to him, "Thank you for coming,"

"I wouldn't have been anywhere else," he said matter-of-factly

"Even if there had been a case?" she smiled somewhat playfully and sniffed.

"Yes even then," he answered honestly and she couldn't quite believe his answer.

She pulled him close then and kissed him softly, at first it was tentative and questioning, but he responded quickly, his hands cupping her face as she stood up on tip toe and he bent forwards. Her hands rested on his arms gingerly as he kissed her more deeply, bringing back the memories of their first hungry kiss and she was beginning to realize just how much she did miss him. He was having the same thoughts himself.

When they broke apart they were both smiling stupidly and Molly took his hand firmly in hers, "I believe you said something about home?"

"I did," he threaded his fingers through hers and nodded, "let's go,"

Hand in hand they left the grave behind them and started in the direction of Baker Street, neither of them were quite ready for the conversations that would inevitably need to be held. For now they were perfectly comfortable giving each other a little bit of comfort in the simple act of holding hands.

**A/N: Even though it was a bit of a heavy chapter it was fairly short, for which I'm sorry. I just thought the ending suited it and I didn't want to keep going this evening. Tomorrow or Monday I'll probably begin the "conversations" chapter in which they make some serious decisions. But for now, let's leave them content with holding hands. **

**Review please! I hope you all liked it and don't think it's *too* much drama for one fic. I'm trying to keep it under control but my imagination is going a bit rampant. **

**-x**


	9. Familiar Conversations

**A/N: Suuuuuper short and fluffy chapter. By Wednesday I'll have two more (I hope) chapters uploaded, but this week is going to be pretty insane for me, so forgive me for the sporadic updates. After February 7th (the date of my mock trial competition) I'll be posting like a speed demon again, but until then it might get a bit sporadic. Keep an eye on my tumblr for news and updates if you're really ancy for a chapter. lol**

**Disclaimer: The only person I own in this story is the baby. Everything is else is Godtiss & ACD**

Molly held the warm cup of tea in her hands desperately, soaking up the heat and staring into the beige liquid. She was having a difficult time finding her words and honestly looking Sherlock in the eye. At the burial she was hurting and he was there for her, an set of open arms that she had been missing - but now... now she was worried about her child and its formerly drug addled father. She could hear Sherlock's foot tapping, his body shifting on the chair opposite her position on the couch.

John was out, thankfully. Molly wasn't sure she could really do this if John was there watching.

"Molly," Sherlock began, "Do you," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "need anything?"

She smiled faintly and dragged her eyes upwards from the cup to his eyes, worried and calculating, "I'm fine, Sherlock, thank you,"

He nodded and threaded his hands together, "Molly I'm not sure what to say,"

She breathed a sigh and laughed gently, "Neither am I,"

He kept looking from her eyes to her stomach, a small smile continously threatening to break free on his lips. Molly made her decision right then and there, she had to take a leap. "Sherlock, come here," her eyes gestured to the sofa seat beside her and he rose, taking the position up.

She reached over and took one of his hands, wrapping them together and looking up into his eyes, "You've decided then?" she asked him.

He nodded sharply and laid his opposite hand on her knee, his body now angled towards her, "I acted irrationally, I was... I shouldn't have told you to go. I want you here,"

"Both of us?" she murmured

"Yes," he answered quickly, "There will be money for you both and,"

Her eyebrows furrowed, "Sherlock... do you just feel responsible or do you actually want us? In your life?"

"Yes," he answered again, "to the second one,"

She smiled, "Okay, just checking. Continue,"

"I'm better," he promised, "What I did, I did out of... fear," he admitted, to himself more than to Molly, "I understand that I've hurt you, and it was never my intention, for that I am sorry,"

"What were you afraid of?" Molly brushed her thumb over his knuckles.

Sherlock stiffened and he turned slightly away from her, "The child might be like me,"

There came her musical laughter and Sherlock glanced at her, "Sherlock, I would love it all the more,"

She unwrapped their hands and pulled his forward to rest on her stomach before she continued, "She is going to be brilliant and beautiful, the more like you the better," she cupped his cheek, "I love you, and that means I love all of you. If I didn't, we would not be in this situation,"

Sherlock leaned forward and connected their lips, his hand slipping around her to hold her back and pull her close. Molly responded immediately, one hand threading into his hair and the other gripping his shoulder. Their mouths worked in sync as they remembered each other, it had been far too long since they had really been together. Her stomach was still small enough to pull her flush against Sherlock and he did, their bodies as close as they had ever been. Molly giggled against his lips and broke the kiss, leaning her forehead against his and slipping her hand down to cup her stomach as she continued to smile.

"What?" he prompted

"I can feel her moving," she kissed him softly and quickly, "she does that now,"

"She?" he answered with a raised eyebrow.

"Just a guess," she confessed and shifted back to look at him, "I keep having dreams where she's a girl,"

Sherlock hummed and brushed his fingertips along her stomach, "Indulge me a moment,"

She narrowed her eyes but nodded, a smile still on her lips. Sherlock put one hand behind her head and the other behind her back and eased her into a lying position on the couch, Molly almost laughed at the absolute care and gentleness of it all. He sat on the floor then by her stomach and studied her, his hands slipping under the hem of her shirt and smoothing over the planes of her skin.

She shivered at his cool fingertips but let him continue, unsuprised by the calculating way in which he studied her. She could see his lips moving soundlessly, committing different measurements to memory.

"Sherlock," she murmured and ran a hand through his hair.

He didn't answer at first but finally broke his thoughts away and turned to her, "Fascinating," he commented.

She shook her head with a grin, "She likes you,"

"How can you tell," he said incredulously.

"Because _I_ like you," she pushed his arm playfully and rested her hand on top of her small stomach.

"That's hardly scientific, Molly," he chastised.

"Not everything is scientific," she murmured, "sometimes you just know things,"

"Hmmm..." he brushed his hand across her hair, "I'm glad you're back,"

"I am too,"

"I've had a difficult time doing work," he commented, his eyes focused somewhere just in the distance, "You were often in my thoughts,"

She squeezed his hand gently and he continued, "There was a case I couldn't finish,"

She remembered this, but chose to let him tell her, "Really?"

"The victim was very similar to you," Sherlock's eyes flicked down to hers as Molly remembered the pregnant woman who lay on her table weeks ago.

She nodded, "I understand,"

He knew that she did and sat quietly for a moment.

Molly looked up to the ceiling of 221B and sighed, "Y'know, my mum didn't even know I was pregnant. She would have loved that news, she was always pestering me to find a nice man and start a family,"

"You loved her." Sherlock stated

"Yes," Molly sniffed and wiped her watering eyes, "I was so worried about my own health that I never phoned her to tell her, we hadn't spoken in weeks... the last conversation we had... I can't even really remember it,"

"Your health?" Sherlock asked, he looked up at her.

"I was just being extra careful," she confessed, "my mum had two miscarriages before she had me, I was trying to be cautious,"

Sherlock's hand came to rest on her stomach again, "Very wise," he murmured, "I am to understand that the risk goes down in the second trimester,"

"Considerably," she nodded, "I'm still cutting out stress as much as I can, but I think we'll be alright,"

Sherlock mulled this over for a moment, "When will you go on leave, from work?"

"Excuse me?" Molly looked down to meet his serious gaze.

"If this is in any way a high risk pregnancy you should be leaving work soon, getting bed rest," Sherlock noted.

"Oh no," Molly shook her head and pulled herself into a sitting position, "I'm working until I absolutely can't anymore - I'm taking it easy otherwise. And my doctor said that I was perfectly fine, not high risk at all,"

"Molly I have to insist," Sherlock tried.

She sighed, "I will have John take a look at me if it will convince you, but for now, I am perfectly fine,"

His fingers drummed lighty on her knee and he he nodded once, "Molly, you look tired," he brushed his fingers along her jaw, "Have you been sleeping?"

"Trying," she sighed, "The past few days have been difficult."

"You should sleep, then," he leant forwards and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"Did you keep my things?" she asked.

"They are exactly where you left them," he replied.

"I kept your things too," she admitted, "I could never quite face throwing them away,"

He hummed in agreement.

"You're growing awfully sentimental, Sherlock Holmes," she smiled.

He scoffed and grumbled, "Only for you, Molly Hooper. Only for you," he stood and pulled her gently to her feet before crossing into the kitchen.

"I should hope so," she threw a playful glance at him and started off in the direction of his room.

Once in his bedroom she hung her coat and scarf on hook that was reserved for her and slipped off her skirt and blouse, folding them gently and setting them on the made bed. She pulled open the top right drawer on the cabinets and located a pair of leggings and a loose gray tank top that would suffice. A chill washed over her and she decided to grab the jumper she had left too, a white button up with a smattering of cherries across it.

Sherlock came round the corner and stood in the doorway, watching her pull the sleeves of her jumper down to the proper length. She turned to face him and smiled, "It feels like I never left,"

He nodded and watched as she slipped under the bed covers onto her side, "This bed was always much more comfortable that the one at my flat,"

"Yes," he agreed and stretched out next to her ontop of the covers.

Molly rested her arm on Sherlocks chest and he brushed his hand down the length of her arm before frowning, "I have always detested this sweater, Molly,"

She laughed and looked up at him, "Whatever for?"

"It looks as though it were made for a small child," he murmured.

"Then remind me to give it to our daughter when she's old enough," Molly remarked and settled her head back on his chest.

"There is no way to know if we are having a daughter yet," he responded, "it could just as easily be a boy,"

"Then I'll give the damn sweater to him," she said.

"Certainly not," Sherlock looked down at her.

"Sarcasm, Sherlock," she laughed.

"Ahh," he murmured and they settled into quietness again.

"Will you start taking cases again soon?" she asked after a moment.

"I already have," he stated, "minor consultations because Lestrade has restricting my access,"

Molly gave a small snort of laughter, "Why am I not surprised?"

"I suspect it's because you know me well enough," he mused and wrapped one arm under her neck to keep her close.

"Sherlock," she murmured, "you really should learn about something called a rhetorical question," she yawned broadly and sighed, her eyes drifting closed as she leaned against his chest.

"I know perfectly well what a rhetorical question is," he protested with a smirk.

"Shhhh," she hushed, "the baby wants to sleep,"

Sherlock chuckled gently, "You mean, _you_ want to sleep,"

"That too," she added.

Sherlock rested his hand ontop of hers and kissed her hair, "Sleep then," he murmured.

"If this was all a dream when I wake up," she mumbled, "I'll be so pissed off,"

He smiled at her choice of words, "Why would it be a dream?"

"I dreamt about you a lot," she sighed, her eyes still closed gently, "I missed you,"

"Well, it's not a dream," he promised, "when you wake, I'll still be here,"

"Good," she nodded.

Sherlock ran his thumb across her the back of her hand, listening to her breath as she fell into a deep sleep. It felt to him as though no time had passed at all. He was beginning to get accostomed to the tenderness he felt for Molly, openly caring for her and showing affection. _Sentiment._ Perhaps it wasn't so awful after all.

**A/N: I hope this tides you over for a bit. :) Also, I want to thank everyone for the kind reviews for the last two chapters. I woke up this morning to thirty reviews and so much good feedback. I love you all! **

**Please drop a review, I love them so!**

**x**


	10. Remembering Baker Street

**A/N: Hellooooo! I know that I've been absent for a few days, and I'm sorry about that. It has honestly been so hectic here and I'm surprised I squeezed in any time to get this chapter out. It picks up exactly where it left off last chapter, and it's the reason the story just got jacked up to an M rating. I couldn't help myself, after all that pain and angst I put them (and you) through, I figured I owed it to the lot of you to do something fluffier.. a lot fluffier. It's not exactly smut, I don't really do smut... but it's of quite the mature nature... so if you're on the younger side, watch yourself. **

**Disclaimer: Although Mofftiss wouldn't ever write this, they still own everything. Quite sadly. **

Molly's eyes fluttered open as she woke naturally with the rising light, one arm resting comfortably behind her head and the other resting on Sherlock's hand which was ontop of her stomach. His body was pressed close to hers, a proximity that they only retained when tucked away in bed, a feeling she wished she could hold onto for the whole day. A small sigh escaped her lips and she turned her head silently to look at Sherlock.

He was still sleeping, his warm breath dancing on her cheek. She shifted subtly to look up at him and study his features in this rare moment of complete silence and peace. Even in sleep he appeared to be deep in thought, his brow slightly furrowed but the rest of his face in quiet repose.

She pulled her hand from out from under her head and gently rested it along his cheek, pressing a kiss to his lips and tucking her body closer to his. She felt a little guilty for being so happy right after everything that had happened, but after so much time being unhappy, she wanted to deserve it.

She felt Sherlock's breathing change and his arm encircle her, bringing them closer as he brushed his hand down the length of her hair. She gripped his shoulder a bit more tightly and breathed in his scent, it had been far too long since they had woken up together.

She felt herself being rolled away from him gently and Sherlock looked down at her with curious eyes, "You're sad," he observed

"No," she shook her head and brushed her fingertips over the backof his hand, "I'm so very happy, Sherlock,"

There was a silence and then his fingers gently brushed across her face as he deduced, "your mouth is downturned and your eyebrows are furrowed, not to mention," the pad of his thumb brushed under her eye, "you're crying,"

She wiped her eyes hastily and gave a small shuddering laugh, "So I am,"

"Molly," he prompted, nudging her.

She looked up at him and kissed him and then allowed her head to rest gently on his arm again, "I feel a bit guilty being so happy. All I wished for was to wake up again with you, for us to be happy again... and here I have it and it feels wrong of me to be so happy after... everything, after my mum,"

He mulled this over for a moment and then kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, eyelids, nose, neck, "You of all people," he murmured, "should be allowed a little happiness,"

She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her collarbone, "I am lucky," he murmured against her skin, "to have you."

They stilled for a moment and Molly murmured, "I thought you didn't believe in luck,"

He hummed against her throat and continued to gently kiss her, "It's a curious thing,"

His hands ran down her sides and back up again, resting under her upper back as he reclaimed her mouth. She responded instantly, her arms wrapping around him and her body melting into relaxation. Their mouths broke apart and she giggled up at him, "Sherlock, will you promise me something?"

"I rarely make promises, Molly," he quipped.

"For me?" She kissed his jaw and dropped her head back down onto the pillow to gaze up at his shining eyes.

"I will try," he conceded.

"Alright," she murmured, "Promise me you'll at least try to never go away again - I missed you far too much,"

His eyes scanned her face and nodded sharply before adding, "I never will,"

She grinned up at him, "Good," before raising an eyebrow, "because then I wouldn't be able to do this," she pulled his face down to hers and hungrily kissed him, pulling her leg up and skillfully maneuvering their bodies so that he was resting in between her legs, her knees pressing on either side of him.

She could feel him holding back, hovering above her so that their bodies were almost touching. She wove her hand into his hair and gently moaned against his lips, surely that would do it.

Sherlock's fingers tightened on her back and she felt his hips drop slightly onto hers. She grinned against his mouth and pulled back, "You're not going to hurt me,"

"I know that," Sherlock retorted quickly, clearing his throat.

She slipped her hand to cup his face, "Hey," she brought his eyes to hers, "you're not going to hurt us," Her mouth upturned and she kissed his lips gently before running her hands up his sides and slipping under his nightshirt.

His body dropped a bit more and she felt him relax, his hand slipping out from under her to cup her face before dropping to cup her breast, his thumb brushing the fabric and driving her head wild.

She pulled off his shirt as quickly as she could, breaking their lips and panting as she attempted to extricate herself from her own clothes.

"Molly," he sat back between her legs, pulling her her up with him and stilled her hands, gripping them in his own, "relax,"

Molly groaned and leaned forward, her face hiding in his neck, "I'm sorry,"

He peeled off her sweater and tossed it to the floor. She leaned back and looked at him as he pulled up the hem of her gray shirt and tossed it aside as well, "Much easier this way, wouldn't you agree?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh shut up," she swatted him and kissed him fully as his hands slipped behind her and unclaspt her bra, easing it off her shoulders.

She sighed as he kissed down her neck and breasts, his hands splayed warmly across her back. "Sherlock," she gripped his bare shoulders and felt his hands slip down to the waistband of her leggings. She put her hands on either side of the bed beside her and lifted her hips as he peeled the fabric off of her, finally getting rid of them and tossing them aside too.

"Your turn," she prompted and watched him quickly stand and undress completely. She swallowed and reached out to him, pulling him close and kissing him again.

Sherlock settled into a cross legged sitting position and lifted her up, settling her legs around him easing her closer.

Molly instinctively wrapped her legs tighter and nodded, "Please," she murmured, her voice growing huskier.

Painfully slowly he slipped inside her, watching her face carefully as she readjusted to him and then opened her eyes, a smile across her face. She watched him now too, as he genuinely smiled, his arms locking around her back and holding her close. She took the initiative and rocked her hips forward, a sigh escaping her lips before she gently bit down on her lip and rocked again.

He groaned against her and reciprocated immediately, kissing her soundly and allowing her to control the situation. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gripped him, her cheek now pressed against his as she moved in rythm, her shuddering breath hot against his neck.

Her small protruding stomach brushed against his and he brought her closer, one hand now buried in her hair and the other against her lower back, he leaned slightly back against the the high smooth slope of the footboard and felt her hand slip off his back to grip the curling wood.

Her fingers tightened and her throat echoed forth an unconcious and satisfied moan, she leaned back slightly, not breaking her rythm and felt Sherlock's eyes studying her. She could feel the pressure building in her body as they worked together, his hand slipped from her hair to cup her jaw and she dropped forward again to kiss him. Her body contracted around him and her mouth slipped off his, a shuddering moan buried into his bare shoulder as her body released. He followed her not a moment later with a contented groan into her hair and his hands slipped down to rest on her hips.

Her body was trembling and she found it difficult to move for a few moments, finally she kissed Sherlock's throat and rolled backwards off of him and against the headboard, their legs still distantly entwined as she panted and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. "Jesus... that was..."

He gave her a crooked grin and raised an eyebrow, "Good?" he supplied.

"Better," she noted and pulled a sheet over her stomach and thighs, "much better, definitely better,"

He laughed and she murmured, "really... better..."

"Got any adjectives?" He teased.

She laughed and ran a hand through her hair, "I would, but I really can't think of any at the moment,"

He pulled himself over to lie beside her and pulled the sheet down off of her, smoothing his hands across her small bump and humming as he did. She wanted to pull the sheet back, but when she reached down he pushed her hand away pulled her against him, his head now resting over her shoulder and his hands running up the length of her back.

"I would prefer it if you didn't cover yourself up from me," he noted, "it seems rather pointless after that, and I've seen you undressed dozens of times,"

She blushed slightly and confessed, "I just look different now, I don't... I don't know,'

His hands ran up the length of her again, "I like it," he kissed her shoulder and then pulled back to kiss her lips.

She smiled and nodded they looked at each other for a moment. Sherlock's eyes flitted down at her bare stomach and she watched the thoughts flick across his eyes. He hummed, pulled himself from her arms, and slipped his pyjamas back on, he turned to the door, paused, and returned to the bed for a moment to press a kiss on her lips before opening the bedroom door and starting out in the main room. She flopped back and sighed waiting a moment in the silence before she heard the strings of the violin in the other room.

Lost in thought, she thought.

She rose and pulled on his dressing gown, tying it as securely as she could, before weaving a plait through her hair and leaving his room to join him. She made them both a cup of tea, set his on the table in front of him and tucked herself gently into the corner of the couch he wasn't occupying. As he played his violin, she noted that it sounded like a Rachmaninoff she had once heard, and slipped a book off the cluttered coffee table. She recognized it immediately as the one she had left at Baker Street weeks ago and located its dog eared page, cracking the spine open and settling in to read as he played the concerto.

As one song ended his bow lowered and his fingers dropped to brush along her bare knee unconciously before he dove back into another melody. Without ever lifting her eyes from the book she smiled and released a contented sigh, she was sure she could stay just like this forever.

**A/N: YAY! happiness for the Sherlolly shippers. :) I hope you all enjoyed the update, even though it was basically just a sex scene... but I mean really, they deserve one. **

**There will not be another update until later this week, as I said I've got a mock trial competition coming up as well as a TON of literature work to get done. On the plus side, my opening statements are finished and ready to be memoirzed for my trial on Tuesday. Wish me luck! 3 **

**After that I'll probably write a chapter out on Wednesday or Thursday and get it out to you as soon as possible. **

**Also, a shout out to Nocturnias who keeps promoted my fic and writing an awesome one herself! Check it out if you haven't already! AND I'll be putting up a Sherlolly fic masterpost later today for those of you who want some good suggestions - I keep getting questions about it. Check my tumblr (my main page has the link) if you're looking for that later. :) Love you all, please drop me a review. **


	11. Unisex Colors

**A/N: Ugh, okay, after all those reviews today I couldn't **_**not **_**write another chapter. I did get some work done, I promise, but I just really had to get this chapter out of my head. So here it is! A bit of fluff, a bit of plot, a bit of surprises below! **

**Disclaimer: Yeah yea yea, godtiss this godtiss that, I'll never own it. **

Molly Hooper awoke at three a.m. starving and desperately craving food. Her stomach audibly growled and she sighed, might as well get up. Sherlock's arm was draped over her stomach but otherwise they weren't touching, so she gently rolled out from under his arm and let him readjust to the bed without her in it. She crept quietly out the door and through 221B until she reached the kitchen. She flicked on the light and opened up the fridge... not much to work with.

Eggs, cheese, peppers, mayonaise, left over Chinese, some celery sticks, and a block of something that looked as though it might have once been bacon. She needed to go to Tesco, badly.

Molly pulled out the eggs, cheese, and peppers and rustled around in the cupboards for a skillet and some necessary spices. She started to crack the eggs and make herself an omelet, throwing in ingredients willy nilly and humming a tune she had heard Sherlock playing on the violin the week before. She was five and half months pregnant now, her stomach clearly protruding and just starting to significantly get in her way. As she cooked and continued to hum she grabbed the red pepper flakes and shook a few in, then a few more, and even more. This was going to be one spicy omelet. She smiled and waited a few more moments before expertly folding it up and sliding it out onto a plate.

As she turned with the skillet to put in in the sink the baby kicked sharply, its little foot connecting with one of Molly's internal organs, she gasped more in surprise than in pain and the skillet slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the countertop.

"Bollocks," she hissed, dropping it into a stream of cold water and then sighing. She cupped her stomach and looked down, "Silly girl," she speared a bit of omelet with a fork.

"Molly?" She heard Sherlock's voice call, "What in the name of sanity are you doing?" the voice grew closer to her as he began to emerge from the bedroom into the main area.

Molly looked over, her mouth full of spicy, cheesy egg, "Cooking," she mumbled, her mouth full.

"At three in the morning?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Craving," she explained and swallowed, "and there's nothing in the fridge, I've got to go to Tesco, God knows you two won't do it," she speared another bit of omelet but then frowned at the smell and put it down, "Oh, I don't want it anymore,"

Sherlock smiled wryly at her, "You look ridiculous,"

Molly looked down at herself for a moment, fuzzy slippers, unbecoming flannel pyjama pants, too tight tank top that showed the bottom of her stomack, hair in a very messy plait. "Yeah well you look," _gorgeous_, "oh, shut up,"

He gave a low laugh and went to collapse on the couch, "Molly, I think you should consider investing in some proper pyjamas,"

There was no response and he glanced over, she was standing mid-step, a hand on her stomach.

Sherlock moved to sit up, "Are you alright?" he studied her face for a moment.

"Fine," she replied and a smile broke over her lips, "Feel this," she hurried over to him and took her place on the couch, grasping his fingers and pressing them to where her hand was a moment ago, "just wait,"

A moment or two later the bump came again, a kick against Sherlock's palm. His eyes lit up and he genuinely smiled, "Molly!"

"I know," she laughed, "You can finally feel her,"

"Could be a boy," he noted and tapped his fingers along her stomach trying to elict another kick.

"Could be a girl," she countered and the baby somersaulted in her stomach, landing a kick squarely on his fingers, "a very, very active girl,"

He kissed her temple and began tapping out a song on her stomach again, his eyes focused on her stomach.

"Sherlock," she sighed, "do you want to find out for sure?" she paused, "At the doctor's appointment later today, I mean,"

"I don't see the point in waiting," Sherlock leaned back against the couch cushions, "Couples wait until the birth in order to preserve some sense of mysticsm and surprise when really they are just prolonging the difficulties of choosing room colours and buying gender appropriate infant attire,"

"Yellow," Molly stated simply, "it's unisex,"

Sherlock shrugged, "you would think so,"

"What do you mean?"

"Yellow is closer to a girl's color while green is closer to a boy's color," he noted, "both are touted as unisex colors but in reality the choice reflects which gender a parent would rather have instead of stating outright like pink or blue,"

"A boy couldn't have a yellow room?" Molly argued

"What color was your room as a child?" He asked.

She paused and then admitted, "Yellow,"

"Exactly," Sherlock clapped her knee gently, "Your mother made the choice in paint color, but you grew up closer to your father - hence your choices in clothing, makeup, profession."

"How are we suddenly discussing my wardrobe?" She sighed and raised an eyebrow at him, but let him continue. He was case deprived and aching to deduce.

"You wear boyish clothes: loose fitting trousers, brogues, button downs, and cardigans but you have an affinity for pink and light colours, which tells me you were more comfortable with giving yourself less outlandish sex appeal but your mother tried to make you more feminine, hence the comfort with the color pink," Sherlock was kind in his deduction, unlike his cutting words on Christmas night so distantly ago.

"You're right," she murmured, and rubbed her eyes,"but we've digressed enough, do you want to know or not?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her, "Of course I want to know,"

"Good," she yawned, "because so do I," Without question she yawned again and laid her head into his lap, resituating herself on her back and swinging her legs over the arm of the couch.

"Molly," he looked down at her and she opened her eyes, "What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable," she laughed at his expression and let her eyes drift closed.

He was still for a moment and then let one hand settle onto her stomach, the other brushing lightly over her brow. Her eyes opened again and she looked up at him, "Read to me?"

"Molly," he sighed

"Anything you want, whatever book your reading is fine," she glanced at the coffee table and reached out for the overturned one on the coffee table and held it out to him.

He grumbled slightly and kicked his feet up on the coffee table, "Molly, twenty minutes ago I was sleeping,"

"And now you're not," she noted, "you never go back to sleep once you've woken up," she nudged him, "indulge me,"

"Fine," he took the book with one hand and rested it down on her stomach, turning his head to read from it, "just this once,"

"Mhm," she nodded, "One time," her mouth quirked into a smile, knowing full well this would not be the last time.

He cleared his throat lightly and began to read, "As long ago as Aristotle, in his book _On the Heavens, _was able to put forth two good arguments for believing that the earth was a round sphere rather than a flat plate. First he realized that eclipses of the moon were caused by the earth coming between the sun and the moon. The earth's shadow on the moon was always round, which would be true only if the earth were spherical,"

Molly let out a small sigh as she listened to his smooth and velvety voice read, her mind beginning to still and the small ache she had had in her back was soothed.

"If the earth had been a flat disk, the shadow would have been elongated and elliptical, unless the eclipse had occured when the sun was always in the center of the disk..." Sherlock's voice began to fade out as she drifted into sleep.

When she woke the next morning she was alone on the couch, the book had resumed its place on the coffee table, and there was a note taped to her stomach. She pulled it off and read it.

_M, _

_ Lestrade called with a case. Fetched John, off to investigate. Will see you at four. _

_ Don't be on your feet for more than an hour at a time at work - SH_

Molly shook her head and folded the note, tucking it into the book as a marker and leaving it lying on the table. She rolled herself upright and headed straight for the shower, it was most definitely going to be a long day.

!=!=!=!=!+!=!=!=!=!

"So how's Molly?" John looked over at Sherlock as they rode in the cab away from the crime scene and back to the precinct.

"She's fine," Sherlock said, "healthy,"

"Good," John nodded, "good,"

Sherlock hummed and looked out his window, pensieve and slightly annoyed by Watson's questions.

"Sherlock," John cleared his throat, "I, um, I have something to-"

"You're going to ask your Mary Morstan to marry you," Sherlock noted.

"What? Oh come on," John sighed, "How did you-"

"Three days ago you called your bank to ensure you had the proper funds to make the purchase, since then you've been acting nervous, dodging me, you've spent the night at Mary's three nights in a row, and currently there's a ring-box-shaped bulge in your top pocket," Sherlock gestured at it.

"Yes, well," John took the box out and opened it, appraising the ring again, "I'm not sure when I'm going to... do it, but I'm planning on it,"

"I've yet to meet her," Sherlock noted, "any reason?"

"No," John answered quickly.

"John," Sherlock sighed.

"I love her Sherlock," John pocketed the ring again, "I didn't want you deducing her and telling me all the reasons I shouldn't love her - even you wouldn't be able to change my mind now,"

Sherlock hummed again and looked out the window, "I suppose we'll just have to see,"

"Sherlock," John warned.

"I'm sure she's lovely," Sherlock sighed, "now please, I'm trying to think,"

John screwed his mouth shut and looked out his own window, his thoughts turning to Mary as the cab pressed on through London's morning traffic.

!=!=!=!=!+!=!=!

Molly finished sewing up the dead man's chest, adding the final knot on the edge of the Y-incision and rolled him into the wall. Dropping her gloves into the bin she sighed, heading to wash her hands and leave early to get to her doctor's appointment.

She felt like she needed new maternity clothes already, the ones she had bought were already starting to get snug in different places and the waistband of the elastic jeans continued to slide down further than she wanted. She desperately longed for the day she could secure something with a belt again. She sprayed a little mild perfume that she knew Sherlock liked and smoothed her ponytail back in place before heading upstairs to the obstetrics floor.

Once she arrived she slipped into the waiting room and opened up a pregnancy magazine, paging through the articles and focusing mainly on the sixth month. She glanced down at her watch, five minutes until four. Where was Sherlock? She pulled out her phone and almost texted him, but decided to give him until at least four before doing anything.

Minutes passed and the door to the doctor's office opened, "Doctor Hooper?"

Molly looked up, "Hi," she stood and followed the nurse back.

She put her in the same room as last time and murmured, "Dr. Charles will be with you shortly," before slipping out of the room and leaving Molly alone again.

Molly glanced at her phone again, and opened up the message box, beginning to type.

_Where are you? - MH_

Before sending it the door opened again and Dr. Charles came in, taking a seat next to her, "How are you?" she asked.

Molly clicked the lock button without sending and leaned back, "I'm doing fine, we're doing fine,"

"Good," Dr. Charles nodded, "Is the father not coming today?"

"He's..." Molly looked to the door and back to Dr. Charles, "working,"

!=!=!=!+!=!=!=!

"What time is it?" Sherlock glanced up from his reverie and up to John and Lestrade.

"Ahh, 3:45," Lestrade said and groaned, "We've been looking through these photographs for hours, and nothing,"

"I have to go," Sherlock stood and pulled his coat on.

"What? Where?" John looked up.

"Appointment," Sherlock replied, "with Molly,"

John almost did a double take but surpressed his surprised smile and nodded, "Right,"

"Text if you find anything useful," Sherlock responded as he headed out the door, "and look in the lower left hand corner of the third photograph down from the right," he called, "you'll find the answer there,"

Lestrade rolled his eyes and stood to look over the mosaic of pictures at the area indicated, "I'll be damned,"

John shook his head, "How long do you reckon he knew that was there?"

"Probably the whole time," Lestrade noted and flipped his phone open, "And what's this about an appointment?"

"For the baby," John murmured, "he's become a strangely attentive care taker,"

"Oh yeah?" Lestrade laughed, "he always seemed a bit too..."

"Calculating?" John supplied

"Sure, sure," Lestrade sent the text he had been composing and looked to John.

"To be honest it's scary," John laughed, "he's been reading parenting books, making Molly dinner, going to the appointments, looking at baby clothes with her,"

"You're joking," Lestrade's mouth fell open.

"I think he sees it like a project," John confessed, "if anything ever happened to Molly now... I'm not sure he'd recover,"

"He loves her, then," Lestrade noted.

"You wouldn't hear Sherlock admit as much," John said, "but there's no doubt in my mind he does,"

"He's an idiot about some things, isn't he?"

"Total moron," John laughed and looked towards the door Sherlock had just let swing shut.

!=!=!=!+!=!=!=!

Sherlock pushed through the examination room door just as Dr. Charles lowered the ultrasound wand to Molly's bare stomach - the fast whirring their baby's heart beat filling the room.

"You're late," Molly noted.

"The case," Sherlock amended and shut the door.

"You're just in time," the doctor said brightly, "I was just about to ask Molly if she wanted to know the sex of the baby."

"Yes," they responded simultaneously and Sherlock crossed the room to stand by her.

Molly took his hand, "I'll be mad at you later," she said half seriously, squeezing his hand, "now, Doctor, care to settle a bet?"

Dr. Charles laughed and studied the screen a moment before nodding and looking back to the couple, "Alright,"

"So what is it? Girl or boy?" Molly perked up.

"It looks like she's a healthy baby girl," Dr. Charles smiled.

A grin spread across Molly's face and she laughed, looking up to Sherlock who was gently smiling as well, "Told you so,"

"You were guessing," Sherlock noted.

"Mhm, but I guessed right, I had a feeling," Molly pointed out

Sherlock shook his head, "Guessing," he teased.

"I was still right," she felt his thumb smooth across the back of her hand and she smiled, "either way, that's that. A daughter,"

"I'll give you two a moment," Dr. Charles murmured and wiped the gel off Molly's stomach before leaving the room to fill out a few forms.

"Hmmm..." Sherlock ran a hand over her hair gently, "A daughter,"

"You're not disappointed, are you?" Molly murmured nervously.

"No," he shook his head and kissed her forehead, "Not. At. All." punctuating each word with a kiss.

She chuckled and cupped his cheek, "Oh Sherlock, she's going to be so brilliant,"

He nodded and ran his fingers along her stomach, "Still mad at me?"

"No," she sighed, "I'm too busy being ecstatic about our daughter,"

"John's getting married," Sherlock said suddenly.

"What?" she turned her head towards him, "When did he ask her?"

"He hasn't yet," Sherlock murmured, "but he's going to soon,"

"I see," Molly murmured, "Mary's a lucky woman,"

Sherlock didn't respond but kissed her stomach instead and continued to hold Molly's hand.

"You should tell John," Molly prompted.

"About?" Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"Our daughter," she grinned, "and besides, you've got a case to get back to, I can see it,"

He gave her a quick and small smile and nodded, "Yes,"

"Go then," she smoothed her thumb over his knuckles before letting go, "and when you finish I'll be at my flat,"

He kissed her lips quickly and pulled his phone from his pocket, flipping it in his fingers and sliding the unlock, "The case is very nearly solved," he laughed, "I'll be home to you by ten,"

"I'll hold you to that," she smiled.

He nodded and left without another word, heading out of Bart's to get to the street and hail a cab, he had a case to finish.

**A/N: Okay, I hope you all enjoyed that, I enjoyed writing it. :) **

**There will now be no more chapters until Wednesday, I swear. lol**

**I do have a challenge for you all though! I need to decide on a baby name for their little girl! When you review, please drop me a few suggestions, or throw them in my ask box on tumblr - whoever suggests the baby name that I end up picking will get to read the birth chapter (which will be full of romance, drama, and general sherlollyness) a day before everyone else. ;) Now, that chapter is a long way off, so I'm keeping this name picking contest thing open for a long while, just suggest them as they come to you. **

**Drop me a review and a name suggestion!**

**Love you all,**

**x**

**P.S. The book that Sherlock was reading was **_**A Brief History of Time **_**by Stephen Hawking, I chose it because of Benedict's portrayal of him in the film **_**Hawking**_**. :) A little shout out to his other work because he is just brilliant. **


	12. An Announcement

**A/N: So it's a seriously short chapter, but it is an update! Read and review!**

**Disclaimer: You know it already. **

"She said yes!" John Watson exclaimed as he pushed through the door of 221B with his arms raised in success.

Sherlock was bent over the microscope on the end of the table while Molly lounged on the sofa, a book leaning convienantly on her stomach. Molly was the first to respond to the exclaimation, "You asked her?"

"It just slipped out," he shrugged and Molly pulled herself up off the couch to pull John into an awkward hug.

"Congratulations!" she smiled at him, "How did you do it?"

"She was getting on the train to head home for a few days before Christmas and I just... I asked her, well, shouted it at her really as the train was pulling off," John admitted sheepishly.

Molly grinned, "That's right out of an old movie, I swear,"

"Well she said yes," he stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced to his friend still bent over the microscope, "and that's all that really matters,"

"Well she's a lucky woman," Molly squeezed John's arm before retreating to her comfortable position on the couch.

"I think you'll find it's the other way around," he laughed, "but now of course the two of you will have to come out to dinner with us, to meet Mary,"

"That would be so lovely," Molly smiled, "after the holidays, we'll do that,"

Sherlock scoffed quietly, still peering into his microscope but as Molly watched him his eyes were steady, clearly not cataloguing and studying - he was waiting for a reaction.

John turned to him, "What?"

Sherlock lifted his face from the microscope and angled around towards John, "You're obviously seeking approval from us before marrying her, it would seem that you're having doubts, John."

"What?" John's eyes narrowed.

"What do you suspect that she's hiding? Perhaps she had a dark past you wish me to seek out - so what is it John? Debts? Addicition? A lover, perhaps?"

John's jaw locked, "Why must you insist on ruining everything?"

"I'm merely stating the facts, John," Sherlock replied, his voice deadpanned.

"Well you're wrong," John countered and Sherlock was momentarily confused, "I have no doubts what so ever, I love her, I'm marrying her, and I thought that you might want to meet her since I was going to ask you to be the best man at my wedding - but if you're previously engaged being a self-righteous arse somewhere else, let me know!" John was fuming, his fists balled at his sides.

"Oh come now," Sherlock sighed, clearly exasperated.

"Christ Sherlock," John turned on his heel and grabbed his jacket, "Sometimes you're bloody thick!"

"John where _are _you going?" Sherlock asked, irritated.

"Out! To get some air, to get away from you!" John bounded down the steps and they listened to the front door slam shut.

Sherlock waited a moment and then turned to Molly, "Not good?"

"A bit not good, yeah," she sighed, her tone caustic.

"Molly," he looked over her, "why are you upset? I've done nothing to offend you, I've merely momentarily wounded John, as it would seem,"

"I'm upset because you've hurt your friend, our friend," she pulled herself up again, "and you don't even see why what you've done is wrong,"

"I was stating a fact, Molly," he tried to reason with her.

"No, Sherlock," she rubbed her eyes, "you were stating your opinion - you think they're not fit for each other and you haven't even met her yet. What does that say about you?"

"Me? I'm not under discussion here, Molly, we're talking about John,"

"Sherlock!" she cried, "We are talking about you! You don't want to see John leave, you don't want to see things change so you say these things to John... but things are changing, things already have!"

"I'm aware of that Molly," he said bitterly.

It was like fighting with a mountain. She tried again, "Sherlock, in four months we're going to have a baby on our hands - a living, breathing, crying person... and I have no idea how we're going to manage it, honestly I don't. But I do know that things will change, and now that John's getting married that's just one more thing - you'll have to adapt, we both will."

"Molly," he sighed again, "I am perfectly aware of these facts, this is not where my concern is. My concern is with John making a mistake in marrying this Mary Morstan,"

"Sherlock!" she ran a hand through her hair, "If its a mistake you have to let him make it! Or you'll lose his friendship trying to convince him - but meet her first, just meet her. We'll go to dinner with them... but you can't keep John as your flat mate forever, he'll have a wife and a family... you'll have a family!" she paused, an ache rippling up her back and a tiny grimace passed over her features as she pressed a hand to her side, "I just... we haven't talked about any of the important things yet... we're so... unprepared Sherlock," she took a deep breath to steady herself, "we're so,"

"Molly," he was studying her pained features and he cautiously reached out to her, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she took a step back from him and straightened up, "I'm fine," she felt tears prickling at her eyes and she wished to God she would stop being so emotional. She pushed away from him as he stepped forwards and made a beeline for the loo, quickly shutting and locking the door.

She sat on the edge of the bath, her back was aching and she grimaced again, in retrospect, she should have picked the bedroom to lock herself in.

"Molly," his stern voice came through the door, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied through her teeth.

"You promised me that you would tell me if you worried anything was wrong with the baby," he countered, "don't be foolish,"

"Sherlock," she warned, "stop," she sniffled and took a few deep breaths to get her emotions under control. She wasn't even exactly sure why she wanted to cry.

"Molly," she could tell he was on the verge of shouting, "please!"

She pulled herself up once again, the ache in her back still not subsiding, and pulled open the bathroom door, "What?"

His hands were on her in an instant - checking her pulse, her eyes, her stomach measurements - his fingers pressed to her back and she pushed him away.

"Stop it!" she hissed, "I told you I'm fine, I am a doctor, Sherlock! I know the difference between discomfort and premature labor!"

"Molly I was merely," he began.

"I know what you were _merely _doing," she sighed, "I promised you I'd tell you if something was wrong, I'm wasn't lying. But nothing is wrong, not right now, she is perfectly fine, and I am just feeling... uncomfortable, my back hurts and I have a headache and I just need to relax, but I do not to go to A&E."

"Okay," he said simply.

"Okay?" her face screwed up in confusion

"Yes," he nodded, "I agree, you're perfectly fine,"

"Right," she nodded, "I am,"

"You are," Sherlock had found this tactic to be a safe one: agree with Molly when she was overly emotional.

Molly took a step back and connected with the wall, she leaned her head back against it and groaned, "I'm sorry in advance,"

"For?" Sherlock inquired.

A tiny bubbling sob escaped her lips, "I don't exactly know," she hiccuped, "why I'm crying," she sniffled, "but I'm sorry anyway,"

When she finally managed to look at him he was trying to smother a smirk quite unsuccessfully.

"Don't laugh at me!" She took in a jagged breath and sniffled, "it's not, it's not funny!"

Sherlock laughed aloud but coughed and recovered himself, "No, not at all,"

"Dammit," she wiped her face frantically, "this is ridiculous - I've nothing to cry about,"

"It's due to the hormonal imbalance, the increased estrogen in your brain is making you more emotionally irritable, hence the yelling and the crying. You're merely,"

"Stop saying merely!" she snapped, "Oh, God, sorry,"

"It's quite alright," he assured, "it's just the increased estrogen,"

"Yes, I know," she wiped her eyes again and sniffed.

"Molly, perhaps you should consider taking calming breaths," Sherlock suggested, he was sure that was one of the suggestions he had read in the pregnancy book on Molly's nightstand.

Her eyes narrowed at him, "Calming breaths?" her voice was deathly serious.

"Yes, a sort of in through the nose, out through the mouth pattern," his mouth twitched into a wry smile.

"You find this so funny, dont you!" she huffed, "poor, womanish, feeble Molly, can't even stop crying because she's so bloody pregnant and doesn't have a clue what she's doing,"

"You're far from feeble, Molly," Sherlock corrected.

"Well thanks!" she snapped.

"Sarcasm?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Not so thinly veiled," she answered.

Sherlock hummed and there was a silence as he watched her stop crying, her head leaning against the wall as she took some deep breaths, "I hate you sometimes, you know that?"

"Yes," he nodded, "You can... equally irritate me as well, Molly,"

She laughed and smoothed her hair back as she looked up at him, "Tell me you've got some kind of a plan,"

"I've always got a plan, Molly," he nodded.

"I feel a bit lost," she admitted.

"You're not," Sherlock noted.

"I have questions," she confessed, "and I have no one to answer them, my mum's gone... and I don't really have a lot of friends besides you and John, none who have had children anyway,"

"I would assume this feeling is only natural," he supplied, trying to help even though he was quite at a loss for the right thing to say.

"Mm," she nodded.

Apparently he got it right. Sherlock reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips, "I have a plan, so you don't have to worry."

"Care to let me in on said plan?" she stepped closer and leaned into his chest, "because I can't stop thinking about every little thing that might go wrong,"

Sherlock encircled her gently with his arms but only touched her gingerly, he cleared his throat and murmured, "It involves you permanently living here, and raising our daughter,"

"Here?" she breathed, "with you... you wouldn't... what about..."

"All the variables have been accounted for," he said quickly, "and you very nearly live with us already,"

"John?" she questioned.

"Will eventually move in with his wife, I would imagine," Sherlock murmured, "I would hardly tolerate their prescene here,"

She nodded into his chest and sighed, "we'll suss something out, won't we?"

"Yes, Molly,"

"Thank you," there was a pause, "y'know, this will be our first Christmas together,"

"Molly, I've known you for several years, I have exchanged many Christmas plesantries with you," Sherlock protested.

"No, I mean, together together," she corrected.

He hummed and before she could answer the door to the flat busted open again.

Sherlock and Molly turned to the source of the noise, his arms easily dropping away from her as she pulled back and looked into the main room.

John stormed back up, "You know what, Sherlock? I've decided, you're coming out to dinner with Mary and I as soon as she gets home and you'll see just what a wondeful woman she is, you can go right ahead and deduce everything about her and all you'll be able to find is a perfectly respectable, kind hearted woman who wants to marry me!"

"Alright," Sherlock nodded once.

John faltered and took a step back, "What?"

"He's being agreable," Molly interjected, "don't question it,"

"Oh, right," John nodded, "Well, good."

"Yes..." Sherlock's eyes flicked between the two of them before saying, "I will provide my full opinion after this... dinner,"

"Right," John nodded, "Well that's... that's fine then," He looked as though the wind had just been ripped out of his sails.

There was a pause and Molly finally sighed, "I'm hungry,"

"You've already consumed a plate of french toast, two sandwiches, and a box of crackers," he noted.

She pushed through the two of them, "Eating for two!"

"Clearly," Sherlock let out a small laugh with John.

"What was that?" she called over her shoulder.

"Nothing," he replied smoothly.

"I'm sure it was," she cracked open the fridge.

Sherlock and John heard a groan come from the kitchen, "Did neither of you go to Tesco? Really? I haven't been over for four days and suddenly I'm here and there's not a stitch of food - just a frozen leg, which I might eat if I can't find some more food..." she grumbled.

John laughed, "I'll pop down to the shops for you, Molly, what do you want?"

She appeared around the kitchen wall with a grin, "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all," he sighed, "you should be resting anyway,"

"Well in that case," she raised an eyebrow and handed him a folded piece of paper before returning to her comfortable place on the couch and glancing at Sherlock who was shaking his head on his way back to the microscope.

John unfolded the list and shook his head, "Fine, fine, I'll be back soon,"

"Thank you!" she called and picked up her book as John disappeared out the door again.

"How long had you been planning that maneuver?" Sherlock asked, his eyes focused on the microscope.

"Oh since before he walked in," Molly laughed.

Sherlock's mouth quirked up into a small smile as he made a few short hand notes in the journal beside his microscope. He was surprised she had not yet noticed there was no slide on the microscope for him to study - he had merely been feigning medical research all the while observing her and jotting down notes as went.

**A/N: A few notes before I go: **

**1. I passed 300 reviews earlier and I just wanted to say thank you all and I love you! I'd reply to each review if I could, because they are all so sweet and special, but I don't think I would have the time! 3**

**2. The baby name suggestions have been wonderful, so far there have been a good four or five that I'm honestly considering, and then a lot of honorable mentions. I won't tell you what they are at this point, obviously, but I'm not committed to anything- so keep suggesting if you think of anything and I'll keep considering!**

**3. Special shout out to Nocturnas who's writing has been like an addiction for me the past week - fast and awesome updates. :D Love it! If you haven't been reading Love Stories and Tournaments of Lies you seriously should be. **

**Drop a review and I'll see you all for the next update sometime between tomorrow and Saturday! 3**

**x**


	13. A Happy Christmas Eve

**A/N: soooooo this is the christmas bit part one, i'll be posting the next christmassy part tomorrow in which Sherlock has a surprise for Molly. ;) I'm just too tired to write it tonight. But I hope this little bit will suffice until tomorrow! **

**Disclaimer: Yup, i'm not Godtiss. No, I don't own this. **

Molly stuck her key in the lock of 221 Baker Street at eleven on Christmas Eve night. It was safe to say her day had been horrible - a full autopsy of one of the most desecrated bodies she had ever seen. The baby was kicking desperately against her ribs too and Molly just wanted to climb the stairs to B flat and crawl into bed.

As she climbed the stairs she could hear a low, familiar voice singing - was that Nat King Cole? A smile passed over her lips as she pushed through the door and into the flat that had essentially become her home the past month.

"_Sometimes I wonder how I spent the lonely nights dreaming of a song... the melody haunts my reverie and I am once again renewed... when our love was new and each kiss an inspiration... but that was long ago... now my consolation is in the stardust of a song..." _

Molly froze in the entry way, her heavy striped bag slipping off her shoulder and silently falling to the floor. The room around her was decorated fully, decked out in garlands, lights, bells, and red bows. A wide smile spread across her face as she looked to the tree in the corner, the furniture slightly moved to accomodate it - John was just finishing putting a few ornaments on and Sherlock was directing, pointing and telling him why he was wrong.

"No, no," Sherlock waved his arm, "up a bit,"

"Sherlock, it's fine!" John protested but did as he said, there was no point pitching a fit.

"There," Sherlock nodded, "I'll do the star, you're far too short,"

John huffed and watched as Sherlock craned his arm to pop the glimmery star atop the tree, adjusting it to stand straight. He nodded at his handiwork and stepped back to admire the tree as John commented, "Well done, she'll love it,"

"Let's ask her, shall we?" Sherlock smiled and they both turned to her in the doorway, "Molly," he murmured walking towards her, "what do you think?"

"It's..." she looked around at everything, "it's gorgeous,"

Sherlock nodded and put a hand on the small of her back, "Glad you like it," he kissed her temple.

John smiled at the pair of them - noticing how comfortable Sherlock was with her, his ease at showing affection. Outside Baker Street they kept their distance and he was typical calculating Sherlock, but John found that now he was able to take a few hours off from cases and just be with her, allow himself to enjoy their relationship.

Molly laughed, "God, it's so... this is just what I needed - work was terrible, this is wonderful,"

Sherlock frowned lightly at the mention of work and he quietly asked her, "Is everything alright?" his eyes flicked down to her stomach.

"Yes, course," she put a hand gently on his neck and craned up to kiss him lightly, "thank you for all of this,"

Sherlock nodded and they turned their attention back to the room. John gave Molly a grin and went to put the kettle on, "We thought it might be a bit more homey for you, in light of everything that's happened this year."

"Thank you, both of you," she sighed and let herself collapse on the couch. She groaned lightly and let her head lean back against the back of the couch.

"How many hours were you on your feet today, Molly?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he studied her.

"What? Oh, I don't know," she rubbed her eyes.

"An approximate then," he said bluntly.

"Sherlock, you're starting ruin all the Christmas wonderland-ness that you started, I'm perfectly fine, just tired," Molly looked up at him.

John brought her a cuppa, "Sherlock, she's right, she looks perfectly healthy."

"Thank you," Molly replied for both the tea and the affirmation of her good health.

"Very well," Sherlock resigned and took up his place on the couch beside her.

Molly continued looking around the room, her eyes settling on the burning fire and just above it, four stockings hanging on the matlepiece. She squinted for a moment and made out the names, Sherlock, Molly, Baby, John. All hanging neatly in a row over the fireplace.

"Oh," she felt herself tearing up for a moment but blinked it away, leaning forward she kept her eyes glued on the stockings.

"Molly?" Sherlock looked over at her.

"The," she gestured, "stockings, they're lovely,"

John glanced over at them and then back to the couple on the couch, Molly clearly touched by the gesture that Sherlock had suggested a few days ago. At the time John had been struck by the sentiment, totally romantic and utterly un-Sherlock. When he asked why and Sherlock had laid out his entire plan he understood completely. He was atoning for last Christmas, and making up for the past year of hardships - she deserved this.

"We haven't," Sherlock cleared his throat, "named her yet so 'Baby' will do for this year. Next year we can get her a proper stocking,"

She sniffed back a few tears and wiped under her eyes to catch the few falling ones, "When did you get so... sentimental, Sherlock?"

"Do you not like it?"

"No, I love it, I..." she awkwardly flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, "it's more than I could have ever... thank you,"

"Of course," he whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple, "I have been quite... unfeeling to you in the past year, and you have had to manage quite a lot on your own... I wanted you to know that I am... here, will be... here,"

She pulled back, their faces a few inches apart, his arms gently wrapped around her, "I know, Oh, Sherlock I didn't doubt you," she placed her hand to his cheek, "you didn't have to do all of this for me to know that, but I love it anyway,"

Sherlock kissed her gently and rested his hand on the side of her stomach, "that makes this much more difficult,"

Her brow furrowed, "What?"

"I have a case," he admitted, "I'm leaving for Bucharest after Christmas, I don't know how long the case will take me but it seems rather involved. A week or so at the least,"

"Oh," she nodded and pulled away, "well of course, yes,"

Work first, Molly, remember that. Always remember that - though she was genuinely surprised that he was waiting until after Christmas, a tiny sacrifice for her.

"Good," he nodded, "I know that it is inconvienant for you, but I did not want to surprise you by leaving abruptly,"

She nodded and gave him a small smile, "Ta,"

Sherlock rose from the couch, squeezing Molly's hand gently as he did and went to fix himself a cup of tea.

Molly looked at her hands for a moment and then up to John who gave her a sympathetic smile and a tiny shrug. Molly got up from the couch and moved closer to the mantle, immediately warmed by the firelight. She touched her stocking ginerly and then the baby's, the red velvety fabric soft beneath her fingers. All her worries about him leaving were dropped in that instant, Sherlock had been planning ahead. He had said he wanted a new stocking with her name for next year - he was making plans with her.

John stood beside her and handed her the tea she had left on the table, "He loves you,"

She gave a small laugh and shook her head, "He loves his work, he cares for me,"

John put a friendly hand on her shoulder, "the pair of you are so foolishly blind,"

"John," she groaned and took a sip of her tea, her eyes still fixed on the stocking.

"He doesn't make exceptions for anyone but you Molly," John stepped into her eyeline and she finally listened to his words, "he cuts cases short, checks up on you, worries about you, asks after you, goes out of his way to do things for you - which is all categorically un-Sherlock,"

She opened her mouth to protest but couldn't quite find the words as John continued.

"Did you know he told Lestrade that he couldn't call him anymore once you go into your eighth month? He said he was taking a "hiatus" from consulting for a while," John murmured to her.

"He did what?" Molly looked in the direction of the kitchen, but he was still fixing his tea - the music just loud enough to drown out their conversation.

"Molly," John smiled, "I don't know if you understand just how much he's changed since that night you were attacked... something changed in him and ever since, he's been mad about you,"

She shook her head in disbelief, "he doesn't fall in love like the rest of us... he keeps me safe and he loves our baby I think, but I..."

"Molly," he squeezed her shoulder gently, "stop selling yourself short, if he didn't want to be with you he wouldn't be. If he didn't love you he wouldn't be this obsessive about making sure you were alright night after night, insisting you sleep here because it's safer, because if anything happened to you, he'd snap,"

Molly swallowed and nodded, "Sometimes it still feels unreal,"

John smiled, "He's a better man because of you, Molly, and I thank you for that,"

"But I didn't _do _anything," she laughed awkwardly and shifted.

"You love him, you're giving him a child, a normal life he wouldn't have ever had otherwise," John reassured her, "he's grown because of that,"

"What are you two chattering about so seriously?" Sherlock's voice came from the kitchen as he crossed back into the room.

"My future wife!" John covered cleanly, knowing full well that Sherlock wouldn't want to discuss the topic.

"Ahh," Sherlock frowned but took his place beside Molly's side by the fire.

Molly was quiet for a moment but then she turned and kissed Sherlock's cheek, "I'm knackered,"

He nodded and returned the kiss to her forehead, "Go sleep,"

The words _I love you _were bubbing at the back of her throat but she swallowed them up again and smiled, bidding her goodnights to them and heading in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom to get some much needed rest.

Sherlock watched her go and then turned to John, "Is she angry?"

"No," John shook his head and resumed his place in the gray chair

"She seemed..."

"Tired," John assured, "she's six months pregnant, it's to be expected."

Sherlock nodded and resumed his own seat, "This case... it may take quite a while John,"

"I know that," John locked eyes with Sherlock, "but you better make sure you're doing this for the right reasons, I don't want Molly getting hurt again,"

"Why would I hurt her, John?" Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"Look, I know how... appealing Irene Adler can be," John leaned forwards, "and she called and now you're rushing off to Romania, just make sure you remember what's waiting for you at home, you've got a family now. Don't get yourself in over your head, and don't get killed,"

Sherlock's jaw locked and he nodded curtly, once swift jut of his head before saying, "While I'm gone, you will look after her."

"Of course," John took a sip of his own tea.

"If something happens, anything at all, I want to know the _moment _it does," Sherlock leaned forwards, "I'm leaving her in your care,"

"Sherlock, I'll look after her, but she can take care of herself. She's pregnant, not an invalid," John noted.

"John," Sherlock warned, "I'm not joking,"

"Alright, alright," he threw up his hands in surrender, "I'll keep an eye on her,"

"Thank you," Sherlock got to his feet and started in the direction of his room, "goodnight, John,"

"Night Sherlock," John replied and watched him disappear down the hallway.

Not in love, indeed.

Sherlock shut his door with a gentle click and began to pull off his clothes, his eyes focused on the figure taking up one side of his bed. It shifted and Molly sat up awkwardly, leaning heavily on her elbows, "Oh thank God,"

Sherlock smiled wryly, "What?"

"She's absolutely restless," Molly groaned, "kicking me in all the wrong places, I can't sleep at all,"

Sherlock climbed into bed and pulled the sheet over his bottom half, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back to his chest, "she'll settle,"

"Wishful thinking," she sighed.

"Darling, you're keeping your mother awake," Sherlock's hand cupped her stomach as he murmured lowly, "it's time you went to sleep too,"

"You call her Darling?" Molly turned her head, surprised at the pet name.

"She doesn't have a name yet, I can't keep calling her 'the child'," Sherlock explained it away with a bit of logic and rested his head back down on the pillow.

"You keep surprising me," Molly confessed.

He hummed and she felt his breath dancing warmly in her hair. She reveled in the feeling of his arms for a moment before murmuring, "Where you're going..." she trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Is it safe?" she asked quickly.

"Most likely," he murmured, "don't worry, I'll come back unscathed, it will just be time consuming,"

"What will you be doing?" she asked.

"I can't tell you," he said after a moment, "not until it's all over,"

She nodded and entwined her fingers with his, "Please do me a favor and contact me while you're gone, even if it's just a text every once and a while, I'll worry,"

"I can do that," he assured.

"Good," she sighed and felt the baby beginning to settle.

The clock on the nightstand clicked to midnight with a quiet beep and Molly let her eyes slip closed, "Happy Christmas, Sherlock,"

"And you, Molly Hooper," he kissed her hair gently before they both fell comfortably into sleep.

**A/N: Some fluff, angst, uncertainty, and Irene Adler... what could be coming up on Christmas morning? hahaha, don't worry guys! You'll be able to find out tomorrow**

**Love all my reviewers and I hope you liked this one too! **

**OH also, I posted a little two-shot Sherlolly fic challenge drabble called Cream, One Sugar - check it out if you haven't already and let me know what you think. It was quite fun to write! **

**-x**


	14. And A Merry Christmas Morning

**A/N: Welllll here's the second part of the Christmas bit! Gift exchanges and a bit of foreboding... ;) I hope you all like it, please review if you do! Also, a big thank you to all of my reviewers! Especially those of you suggesting baby names... I think I have one chosen, but I'm not sure yet, you can still suggest them if you'd like, you can always change my mind. **

**Disclaimer: Moffat & Gatiss own them, but it's hiatus season, and I'm taking them out for a test run. **

Molly's eyes opened slowly with the rising light, the curtains pulled back to let the white winter light stream in across her face. It was finally snowing and the streets were perfectly silent - an untainted white blanket of snow capping the whole of London. She felt refreshed from her uninterrupted night of sleep and reached to the other half of the bed. The bedsheets were long cold and she swiveled her head to look at the door - gently pulled to but not closed completely.

She stripped off her clothes and pulled herself into the shower, letting the hot water loosen the last stiff muscles in her shoulders and wake the rest of herself up. She toweled herself off when she was finished and ran the hair drier that she kept tucked under the sink across her hair until it was mostly dry. She left her face free of makeup and pulled on a large fair isle jumper and maternity stretch-top jeans and a pair of turkish knit socks.

There was a soft rap on the door, "Molly," it was John.

"Coming," she promised and headed for the door.

"I made a bit of breakfast if you're hungry," John smiled at her, "Sherlock's ducked down to Mrs. Hudsons for a few but he'll be back,"

Molly nodded, "Thanks," she followed him out into the main room, "I'm starving,"

John settled himself with a cup of tea at the table and began to tuck into his breakfast as Molly took her own seat and started eating.

"Thanks for everything," Molly murmured before spearing a bit more egg.

"Mhm," he smiled and took a bit more tea, "Merry Christmas,"

"Merry Christmas," she sighed and then added, "When does Mary get home?"

"A few days," he nodded, "but she wants me to come down to meet her parents - she told them we're engaged and they want to meet me,"

Molly nodded, "They'll love you,"

"Hope so," John smiled, "her father was in the military too so I think it should go pretty well,"

"Sounds like it'll be just fine," she replied. After a moment she stood, "I've got to get your gifts under the tree, I won't be a mo,"

John nodded, "Sherlock will be gone for at least another five minutes, so you're in the clear,"

Molly rushed to her striped bag and pulled it open, extricating two packages that were expertly wrapped in red and green paper respectively. She tucked them under the tree and noticed a few other packages while she was down there, "What's all this?" she asked.

"Gifts," John answered, "we agreed one gift to each other a piece, that's what's there,"

She counted again and realized there was one extra, "What's that one then?"

"Ask Sherlock," John shrugged, but the smile on his face betrayed him.

"You know," Molly pointed at him.

"I know nothing, not one thing," John held up his hands in mock defeat.

"Oh come on," Molly groaned, "you do too know, I can see it all over your face,"

"Stop interrogating John, you'll find out soon enough," Sherlock strode into the room and placed a quick kiss on Molly's forehead before retreating into the kitchen.

Molly and John broke into a small fit of laughter and as John cleared the plates Molly relaxed into one of the arm chairs, staring out into the falling snow.

"It's ashame you're not doing another Christmas drink this year," Molly commented as she tucked her legs under her as comfortably as she could manage.

John nodded in agreement but Sherlock frowned, "too many people,"

Molly sighed and smoothed her sweater over her stomach, "Sherlock... what is in that box," she gestured to it resting by her gift to him.

"Molly," he warned.

She hushed and waited for the boys to settle around in the arm chairs, the little awkward family of three. Sherlock was poised with his elbows on his knees, palms in the prayer position set to his mouth while John was comfortably sitting with his legs crossed and a cup of tea in his hands. "Who's going first?" John asked.

Sherlock shifted, slightly uncomfortable with the Christmas morning scenario that he hadn't experienced since he and Mycroft were children, but John had insisted that this would feel more homey and welcoming to Molly so after much prodding he conceeded.

Molly piped in, "John, you can open mine first," she leaned to grab the package wrapped in green but he moved forward quickly.

"I've got it," he assured her and she nodded in thanks as he settled the package on his knees.

He tore open the wrapping paper in one go and lifted the lid of the box, a dark coloured Christmas jumper waited for him beneath the layers of tissue, "Thank you Molly," he said sincerely, "just what I needed, keeps getting colder,"

She smiled earnestly, "there's a gift receipt if you don't like it or if it's the wrong size, don't worry about taking it back, you won't hurt my feelings or anything," she realized she was rambling and gave a short awkward chuckle before settling back into silence.

"Nonsense," John shook his head and held the jumper up, "it's perfect,"

She nodded and threw a glance to Sherlock who hadn't yet moved from his somewhat uncomfortable and pensive position.

There was a pregnant pause before John reached down and grabbed up a package wrapped in a dull gold paper tied with a string, "Here, Sherlock this is for you,"

He unfolded his arms and made short work of the packaging, the cool expression never fading from his features. He lifted the lid slowly and lifted the layer of simple tissue paper to see what lay underneath. A large magnifying glass with a silver rim and a handle of onyx and silver detailing rested in the box and Sherlock lifted it daintily, peering through the lens and apprasing its weight - he had probably already deduced its value and what price John had paid.

"You always complain about not having one for your desk," John explained when his friend didn't immediately thank him, "thought it might help,"

Sherlock hummed, "Yes," after a moment of some more inspection he noted, "It should do very nicely, thank you John," a small smile passed over his lips.

It was Sherlock's turn to give a gift and he shifted, dropping the magnifying glass and case softly to the floor before grabbing up a silver wrapped package and setting it gently on Molly's knees.

Her fingers smoothed over the wrapping before she pulled at each piece of tape and shimmied the wide flat box out of its folds of silver. Molly lifted the lid gently and opened up the sides of velvet fabric covering the gift inside. Her face light up when she saw it, a small silver compass hanging on a long silver chain - clearly age worn but also beautifully detailed and well cared for. "It's beautiful, Sherlock," she sighed lifting it gently out of the box and holding it to her eyes to appraise it.

He cleared his throat, "It was my mother's, I thought you might appreciate it,"

She looked over to him, "I love it," she turned the chain around in her fingers and slipped it over her head, the compass pendant resting perfectly between her breasts, "It's perfect,"

Sherlock gave a crooked smile and nodded, clearly pleased that he hadn't yet ruined her Christmas, "Right... well,"

Molly touched the compass and smiled, leaning somewhat uncomfortably to grab the brilliantly red package from under the tree, passing it to Sherlock, "It's silly now that I think about it... in... in comparison,"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he pulled apart the wrapping as carefully and quickly as he had done to John's gift and opened the box, nodding in approval as he did so.

"It's just a new diff-stain kit, I noticed you were running low on supplies so I thought I'd refresh you," she shifted, "and I've got some properly fascinating samples ready for you at the lab... but I'll just keep those on ice until you get back from your... case,"

"Thank you," Sherlock touched her hand lightly before setting the kit back in the box and sliding it onto the table behind him, "you're right, I needed them,"

"Good... good," Molly grinned.

"What kind of samples are they?" Sherlock turned to her, his earlier discomort beginning to fall away with the talk of work.

"I've been collecting them," she said, "some necrosis, but also some various samples from different diseased patients, you'll like them I think,"

"Interesting," he said, and he really was interested.

John looked between them and laughed, "Typical," he murmured, eventhough nothing about their relationship was.

Molly laughed too and broke her concentration on Sherlock, turning back and meeting eyes with John. Sherlock pointed under the tree to a dark green and simply wrapped package, "John, that's for you,"

His gift was also a jumper and John laughed heartily as he put it aside with Molly's, "How did I know?"

"Logical deduction," Sherlock answered, "you have a penchant for jumpers,"

John rolled his eyes and sipped his tea, "yeah, yeah," after a moment he reached under the tree and passed Molly another simply gold wrapped package, "here you go, Molly,"

"Thank you," she reached out and took the weighty package and once again made quick work of the wrapping.

Inside was a large and dusty old book, Molly instantly remembered it as one of the first she had ever used in medical school and smiled, "Oh, I haven't seen one of these in ages!"

"Thought it might do for your shelf," John smiled, "or perhaps just to stick under a table leg if you don't like it, but I took a leap of faith,"

"No, it's perfect," she assured him, "I still have some of my old text books at my flat, I'll put this with them, it'll fit right in, thanks,"

"Course," he nodded.

There was a pause as Molly paged through the weighty text book and finally set it on the side table by her, her eyes finally came to rest on the last package under the tree, "Well..."

"Yes, Molly," Sherlock shook his head, "You can open it,"

She smiled and reached down for it, grabbing it in one quick swipe of her hand and pulling it up to her. She opened the small half-folded card on the front, the inscription said: _To Baby. _

The box was small and flat and she opened it's lid quickly, inside rested a key that looked strikingly similar to the one that let her into the flat. "I... I have a key,"

"I know that Molly," Sherlock stated simply, "this key doesn't open the front door,"

"Then what does it open?" she looked up at him with a puzzled glance.

"Follow me," Sherlock stood and started for the door.

Molly pulled herself with a slight bit of trouble, groaned at the annoyance, and then followed suit, but once she made it to the landing he was no where to be found, "Sherlock?"

"Up here," she looked up and he was leaning over the bannister, "come on,"

Molly rolled her eyes but climbed the steps with a grin plastered on her face, heading onto the landing.

"That," Sherlock waved his arm at one of the doors, "is John's bedroom,"

"Right..." Molly narrowed her eyes, "and that matters because..."

"Because," Sherlock gestured to the door closest to them, "this is the room we've used for storage, a guest bedroom that Mrs. Hudson used to sub-let but I have now maneuvered into the price of the rent, so that this room is also ours,"

Molly nodded, "Okay,"

"Open it," he prompted.

Molly shifted the key into her fingertips and slipped it into the door's lock, turning it and popping the door free, letting the door swing open. Sherlock reached around and clicked on the wall light and the room lit up.

It was an average size room, but the walls were now painted a warm buttery yellow making it seem larger, the wide windows covered with sheer white curtains, a large dark wood crib rested against the wall.

"It's not finished, obviously," Sherlock noted.

Molly moved to the center of the room, if she had been holding anything she would have surely dropped it. Her mouth fell open into a small 'O' of surprise, she turned round fully and took in the room, "So it's... this is a..."

"Room for the baby, yes," Sherlock supplied, holding his hands behind his back and watching her take in the room.

"Sherlock it's... I mean, are you sure?" she turned round to look at him.

His eyebrows knitted together slightly and he sighed, "Of course, I wouldn't have undertaken such a project and enlisted the help of both Mrs. Hudson and John if I didn't intend for you and the baby to live here,"

"With you," she breathed, throuroughly embarassed that she had said it aloud.

"Yes," he nodded slowly, "it is the most practical option and I think the most agreeable for both of us. You've been concerned about this for weeks so I simply decided to take matters into my own hands and make it a bit simpler,"

Molly smiled widely pulled him into a hug, "This is insane,"

"On the contrary," he replied, smoothing his hands over her back, "completely sound logic."

"It's so perfect for her," she confessed.

"Good," Sherlock ran a hand over her hair and smiled.

"I can just picture it finished too," she pulled away and turned around to face the room.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and Molly reached up and took his hand, pulling him close to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she leaned her back into his chest.

"I wish you weren't leaving," she murmured quietly after a moment.

Sherlock's eyes closed tightly and he sighed against her hair, "Molly,"

"I'm not asking you to stay," she covered quickly, "I want you to go - it's a case and someone needs your brilliant brain to figure something out they can't, but it's awfully inconvienant timing, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," he replied.

"There's something bothering you too," she leaned her head against his shoulder, "I can tell,"

He was silent.

"You can tell me," she ran the pad of her thumb over his knuckles, "I can help,"

"No, Molly," he kissed her hair lightly, almost unnoticeably, "not this time,"

"Is it bad?" she asked in a meek voice.

"No," Sherlock replied quickly, "everything's quite alright,"

"I don't believe you but I trust you," she kissed his hand.

"Wise decision," Sherlock commented.

"Sherlock," she sighed and pulled away from him, turning to look at him, "are you sure?"

"Molly," he said again in his warning tone, "stop,"

She held her hands up in surrender and brushed her fingertips along his cheek, kissing him softly, "Thank you for the room,"

He nodded and she took his hand, "let's go back downstairs," to which he nodded again.

On the steps Sherlock stopped them and pulled her around to face him, "There are a few things I would like you to do while I'm away,"

"Anything," she replied easily.

"Stay here at Baker Street, it's safer, you'll be with John and Mrs. Hudson," Molly opened her mouth to protest but he continued, "Do not work too much, rest as often as possible, and listen to John - if you need anything you can ask him, I've already told him so,"

"Sherlock, I can take care of myself," she sighed.

"I know," he retorted, "but I will be thousands of miles away, if anything should indeed happen I would like you to be as close to those I trust as possible,"

"Nothing's going to happen," she put a hand on his upper arm to assure him but he ignored it.

"Just agree to those things," he pressed.

"Alright," she nodded, "but only if you agree to a few things yourself,"

"Which would be?"

"Text me as often as you're able, let me know where you are - if you're safe," she said, "and when you do come home, tell me about the case, I don't like it already but I want to know what it is you're doing out there,"

He nodded curtly, "Now agree to yours,"

"Fine, fine," she resigned, "agreed."

"Good," Sherlock's features softened and he began down the steps again, Molly following behind, "I leave at dusk,"

"Today?" she stopped him on the landing and he spun around, "as in Christmas night?"

"Yes," he nodded.

She frowned, but nodded anyway, "I just assumed you'd be leaving... in the morning but tonight that's, fine,"

"It's the only flight," he answered quickly.

"Right, obviously, okay," she gave him a forced smile.

Sherlock didn't quite pick up on her frown and moved quickly to the next thing on his agenda, "I've got to pack,"

"Okay,"

He disappeared down the hall to his bedroom and Molly stood in the main room again, her eyes turning to John's as he finished cleaning up the discarded wrapping papers and stuffing them in the bin.

"Do you know what his case is?" Molly asked him tentatively.

"Yes," John admitted.

"Is he going to be alright?" Molly's stomach churned at the possibilities.

John's face softened and he smiled and nodded at her sympathetically, "he's going to be just fine, Molly - absolutely fine,"

"He better be,"

"He will be," John nodded, "I promise,"

!=!=!=!=!=!+!=!=!=!=!=!

Sherlock's two bags were waiting by the front door of 221B, the cab had been called and his flight schedules finalized, the ticket waiting in his inner breast pocket. The three had spent the day quite normally, although Molly was unusually quiet at times, worrying as she tended to do more and more these days. Sherlock was wrapping his scarf around his neck and pulling his gloves on when Molly came round the corner from the kitchen and stood in front of him.

"Time to go?" she asked quietly.

He nodded, "I'll alert you when I land,"

"Thank you," she smiled and stood on her tip toes to press a kiss to his lips.

He held her close for a moment, one hand on the side of her stomach, the other cupping her neck before he broke the kiss and let her back down, "I should go,"

She nodded and watched as he gathered up his bags. As he began out the door she called, "Sherlock!"

"Yes?" he turned to her.

"Don't get shot okay," she blurted out, "just... just don't do anything stupid,"

He gave her a wry smile and laughed, "Molly, everything is perfectly fine, a tame case, I just can't give you all the details,"

"You're lying," she noted.

He hummed but said nothing.

"It's okay," she nodded, "just stay safe, and text me,"

"You too," he retreated to her to claim one last kiss before nodding to her and starting out the door which shut behind him.

Molly felt a pool of dread in her stomach but shook it away and went to make herself a pot of tea, he would text, he would call, he would surely come home soon.

As Sherlock began down the steps and out the front door of 221B he saw the waiting cab and piled his bags into the trunk before climbing in himself, "Heathrow,"

"Right," the cabbie answered and pulled off from the curb.

His phone dinged suddenly with the familiar sound of a woman's moan and Sherlock calmly fished the phone out of his pocket to read the text.

_Merry Christmas, when you land, let's have dinner. - IA_

**A/N: Kind of lengthy, but not too much. Next chapter will be posted in the next few days, but I have a lot to do so it may be a few days and not tomorrow night. Never know though. **

**I hope you're still enjoying this fic, I know I'm enjoying writing it. Love you all and thanks for staying with me this long! **

**-x**


	15. The Woman

**A/N: Ooooooh here is the update! I'm so sorry it took so long, I know some of you must have thought I abandoned this fic leaving it for so long. I was just having a bit of trouble controlling the plot and getting Irene's character right, I think she's alright now (you'll be the judges of that) but I didn't want to upload a half-assed chapter just because of time. **

**Disclaimer: No, they are not mine, but I am absolutely borrowing them for the hiatus. **

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure why he had flown to Romania, the woman had called and he had come - in his mind he convinced himself it was the thrill of a case. At home he had begun to feel domesticated, not that he didn't want to be with Molly, but his work was beginning to come to a standstill. He _needed _one more big case before he took some time off to watch over her, he needed this like he had once needed drugs.

As he left the Henri Coanda International Airport he pulled out his phone and clicked it back on. Three texts waited for him.

_Don't forget to call Molly - JW_

_ Let me know when you land - MH_

_ How was your flight? Let's have dinner. - IA_

In the cab he stared at the messages, easily ignoring John's text and letting his finger rest over both Irene and Molly's names. He double clicked Molly's and held the mobile to his ear.

"Sherlock," she said after a few rings, "you've landed then,"

"Yes," he said shortly, "I assume you're fine as well?"

"Everything here is good, don't worry," Molly replied.

"I wasn't," Sherlock countered quickly.

"Well," Molly sensed his curt tone and cleared her throat, "I'll let you go then,"

"Yes," Sherlock hummed, "Goodbye,"

He clicked the phone off, the sound of her goodbye hacked off mid sentence as pressed the red 'End' button, his eyes now staring at Irene's message.

The phone gave a moan and a new message appeared.

_Carol Parc Hotel, Suite 404 - IA_

Sherlock clicked the phone dark and hid it in his pocket before leaning forwards to the cabbie and relaying his instructions to which the cabbie nodded and turned off the motorway. The sky was just beginning to lighten up as they arrived in front of the the old hotel, small but clearly expensive and intimate.

"Multumesc," Sherlock nodded to the cabbie and paid him, pulling his bag along with him and looking up at the grand hotel.

He was walking directly into whatever trap she had laid for him and he was letting it happen. As he walked up the steps and went towards the lobby his mind replayed exactly why he was here in the first place.

Three days before Christmas he had received her text, his phone making the erotic sigh that he had not heard since that night he had rescued her from that terrorist cell. They had shared a hotel room that night too, although seperate beds were slept in and he had made it clear that nothing was to happen between the two of them - except for the kiss she had pressed to his lips after their escape as a thank you.

_I need you - IA_

Before he could formulate a proper response another text sounded and he forced himself out of bed and away from Molly before the text alert woke her and questions were asked.

_I've got a case, a proposition, and some incentive. Come to Bucharest as soon as you are able. - IA_

Part of Sherlock told him to shut it down, delete her from his life and move forwards with another trivial case from Scotland Yard, another kidnapping... another robbery. He couldn't do it. The deep curiosity ate at him and he closed his tightly and sighed before responding swiftly.

_Bit busy. What sort of incentive? - SH_

Instead of a text he recieved a multimedia message and he clicked download. What he saw made his stomach drop and his eyes narrow. A picture of Molly at Baker Street, reclining on the couch and reading - a smile on her lips, a hand on her stomach. Sherlock studied the photo quickly and determined by her clothes, measurements, and choice of reading material that it was approxmiately three weeks prior.

_Enough incentive? - IA_

She knew exactly which strings to pull. Sherlock had replied a moment later.

_What's the case? - SH_

He hadn't even needed to wait a minute before the quick response flew it with a moan.

_Not just yet, come to Bucharest. Details later. Hurry, hurry. - IA_

He had told her that it would take him until after Christmas to organize everything and she had agreed.

He was now standing in front of Suite 404's door and he knocked quickly, relaxing his shoulders and brushing away the concerning memories. The door swung open with gusto and there she was again, standing in a dark red vintage cut dress, her hair wrapped up in its familiar style, "Hello sweetie,"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but passed over the threshhold in silence and stood, waiting for her to continue.

She crossed the room and gestured to the large spread of food, "Dinner?"

"Not hungry," Sherlock replied.

"Good," she pushed the cart aside, "I didn't expect you to be,"

"The case?" Sherlock watched her with detail as she approached him, her body mere inches from his.

Irene clicked her tongue against her teeth in disappointment, "Not yet, we've got other things to catch up on first,"

"Do we?" Sherlock asked.

"Mmm," she ran her finger down his lapel, "How is John?"

"Well," Sherlock replied, "engaged,"

"Yes I'd heard," she looked up and pressed her palm to Sherlock's chest, her finger lightly brushing the button on his cream shirt, "and your other pet?"

Sherlock's hand flew upwards and grasped her wrist harshly, pushing her several steps back with his fingers clasped tightly around her forearm.

"Oh," Irene laughed, "rather attached to her, I see,"

"What do you want?" Sherlock countered, driving the subject away from Molly.

"It's not just what I want," Irene extricated herself from Sherlock's grasp and reclined on the large gold bed, "it's what you should want too,"

"And that is?" Sherlock asked but after a moment he shook his head, "oh I see,"

"Do you?" Irene raised an eyebrow.

"Of course," Sherlock nodded, "You want protection, once again. You're a creature of habit Miss Adler, and I assume this will play out just like before,"

"You're wrong," Irene pulled a phone from the sidetable, "it's not just about protection, or survival... I want to come back to England, I want my old life back - and I won't stop until I've gotten it."

"So you think you can try and threaten me? Into what? Calling Mycroft to give you validated papers?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Her photo wasn't a threat," Irene's eyes flicked up to his, "It was a test. You failed,"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "A test..."

She hummed delightfully, "It seems that you are much changed since I saw you last year,"

He didn't respond, Sherlock's hands met behind his back as he stared the woman down.

"I didn't even threaten her life, or that of your baby for that matter, which I could have - and you came running," Irene noted.

Sherlock stiffened but he continued, "You need me to get back into the country, you wouldn't have been able to do anything to her. I came for the case,"

"You're still wrong," Irene sighed and unlocked her phone, coming to stand beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulder, pressing herself close to him and holding the phone out with the other hand, flicking through the photos. They were all of Molly, and as she continued to flick through them he began to recognize the pictures as the same ones that had been sent to Molly ages ago by Sebastian Moran while he was still in hiding.

"She's a pretty one though," Irene murmured, "I can see why you wanted her... she's awfully... comely,"

A low growl rippled through him and he unclasped his hands, bringing them swiftly around Irene to pull her back away from him and toss her down onto the bed, in one adept movement he held the phone in his fingertips. But as he had been unclasping his hands Irene had pressed her finger quickly to the top lock button on the phone, shutting it's photos and secrets away tightly.

"I knew you consulted Moriarty," Sherlock noted, "I should have suspected you were consorting with Moran,"

"Consorting?" she barked out a laugh as she smoothed her styled hair. "Moran was a fool, overly attached to Moriarty and looking for revenge. He sent me those pictures hoping that I would assist him to kill you, and her of course,"

"And?"

"And nothing," Irene stood again and fished the phone from his fingertips, "I wasn't interested in killing you, but I kept the photos. I knew they might come in handy one day, and lucky for me, they did."

Sherlock took a step back from her and ran his eyes over her, "What about the newer photos? Moran was killed months ago - who do you have watching her now?"

"Oh, Sherlock," she tutted again, "_everyone _is watching her, don't you see? You've created a family shaped crack in your armor and people are looking to get at you, but it is poetic isn't it? The Great Sherlock Holmes, undone by a simple girl and her child."

Sherlock's lips pressed together in a tight line as he listened to her, his blood beginning to run cold, his thoughts desperately thinking of Molly alone as he was here, in the woman's hotel room.

"Oh no no no," Irene patted his arm, "she's safe for now, dont worry,"

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because that's all you have," she smirked, "I certainly don't wish you any harm, Mr. Holmes. You saved my life once, and that goes a long way, and if you get me back into England it will go farther," she paused and looked him over, "I return to my old life and you can return to your new one, I'll call off my dogs and that will be that,"

"Your dogs?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"It would seem that when you cut of the head of the hydra two more grew back. You removed the threat of Moran, but you overlooked me," Irene smiled and gave a small shrug, "everyone was looking for a new consulting criminal, I merely accepted the post,"

"Ahh," Sherlock nodded, "Protection of the highest order, when everyone looks to you,"

"I get all the dirty information from all around the world and I barely have to lift a finger," Irene returned to her perch on the bed, "it was easy, really."

"I don't doubt it," Sherlock folded his hands together behind his back once more, "and now?"

"The case," Irene smiled, "yes,"

"Who is my client?" Sherlock asked calmly.

"I know the Prime Minister," she leaned back against the bed's headboard and crossed her ankles, "well I know what he likes, and he confessed to me he had just come into a handsome some of money - the details are a bit muddled, after all he was gagged at the time," she flashed a raised eyebrow and a smirk, "but the money is in bearer bonds, and with them I could easily return to England - after you call your brother of course - and afford my old lifestyle,"

"You asked me here to make a phone call, then," Sherlock noted.

"Oh no," she rose and crossed to him, running her hand down his lapel again, "I need you to help me steal the money,"

**A/N: Dun-dun-dahhhhhh. :) I hope you all liked the return of Irene Adler and the way she's playing into the story, please drop me a review of what you thought! I'd love to hear it. **

**Also, a few fic recs while I have you here, I know I haven't been able to stop reading them!**

**-Love Stories and Tournaments of Lies - Nocturnias  
>-Catalyst - AndInTimeThisTooShallPass<br>-Silly Things - Vienna Sunset**

**See you in the next couple of days with another update! **

**-x**


	16. Time To Meet

**A/N: I know it's on the shorter side, but it's a bit transitional and just keeping you up with Molly. Either way I hope you like it! Read and review if you'd like! **

**Disclaimer: They still don't belong to me, but I'm taking many creative liberties with them. **

When Molly's mobile rang she had been watching a bit of crap telly and eating cold pizza, her phone perched on her stomach waiting for his call. It vibrated just as the teenage girl's estranged father returned from prison on the nighttime soap, the phone slid off her stomach and into the cushion crack on the couch.

"Bollocks!" Molly hissed, securing the pizza crust between her teeth and grabbing up the phone as quickly as she could. She pulled the pizza crust from her teeth and clicked on the call, "Sherlock! You've landed then,"

"Yes," he sounded irritated, and rather tired, "I assume you're fine as well,"

"Everything here is good, don't worry," she replied.

"I wasn't," he said curtly.

"Well," Molly shifted and cleared her throat, "I'll let you go then,"

"Yes," Sherlock was brisk, "Goodbye,"

She heard the phone click off just as she replied, "Goodbye,"

Molly groaned and tossed the phone on the coffee table before rolling into a somewhat comfortable position on the couch and falling into sleep.

She woke to the sound of typing, her eyes cracking open to the dimly sunlight main room of 221B. Looking up she saw John at his desk, clicking away at what she assumed was a new blog post.

He glanced up, his fingers pausing over the keys, "You really shouldn't sleep on the couch y'know, there's a bed the next room over,"

"Mmm," she groaned and sat up, huffing as she did so, "Couldn't be bothered,"

"Did Sherlock call you?" John asked.

"Mhm," she stood and headed in the direction of the kitchen to make a cuppa, "he sounded preoccupied... I don't know what's going on with this case, but it's not putting him in a good humor,"

"It's..." John started but swallowed his words, "he'll be back before you know it,"

Molly said nothing but began contemplating what the case could possibly be about. Usually when Sherlock went away on cases he was out the door in an instant, John close behind, shouting excitments back at her as he tumbled into a cab and off to God-knows-where. This one was different, and that fact was starting to eat at her.

"Molly," John's voice came from the other room and she straightened yesterday's jumper and ran a hand over her hair before responding.

"Hmmm?"

"We've got a visitor," John didn't exactly sound amused.

"Right," Molly left the kettle and headed into the main room.

John was still seated at the desk, "Mycroft,"

Molly looked over towards the door at the man in the center of the room who rarely made housecalls, leaning gently against his umbrella, head cocked to the side as he waited for Molly to enter.

"Hello Mycroft," she greeted, remembering the reaction Sherlock had had to his presence in the flat before, and the way he had delt with Sherlock's addiction months prior.

"Dr. Hooper," he nodded towards her, "John," he nodded again and took a step forwards, settling in Sherlock's armchair and crossing his legs, "Do sit down,"

Molly wondered absently if Sherlock had told Mycroft about the baby or if he discovered on his own though his overprotective spying. Molly sat in the chair across from him and folded her hands in front of her stomach, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

"Is there something going on?" Molly asked.

Mycroft hummed and folded his own hands before continuing, "It would seem that my brother has flown half way across Europe rather abruptly,"

"Yes, he has a case," Molly replied.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he debated what to say next and then he hummed again, "No, not exactly."

"Mycroft," John cleared his throat, "Is this necessary?"

"Well, I was going to ask if either of you knew why he was breaking into the National Bank of Romania to steal millions of pounds worth of bearer bonds from their Prime Minister alongside Irene Adler, who, as it turns out, is not in fact dead... but I see one of you has no idea,"

There was a silence before Molly murmured, "He... why the hell is he..."

"Molly, don't panic," John said quickly before turning to Mycroft, "He didn't know what he was getting into when he left, she called and he ran off - like he does. She has to be coercing him in some way,"

"Come now, John," Mycroft gave a small laugh, "we both know Miss Adler wouldn't need to coerce him into much,"

"Wouldn't say that," John shook his head, "not now,"

"My brother, that much changed?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking towards Molly briefly, "He had responsibilites, yes, but she is _the woman_,"

"More than responsibilites," John assured Mycroft, "you spy on him, but you've got no idea what goes on behind closed doors, things are different,"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and nodded, "Yes, so it would seem. And yet he still ran to Romania at her call, tell me - what did Sherlock say to you?"

"That she had asked him to come and he needed to go," John kept throwing cursory glances at Molly who was sitting blankly in the chair.

"And what would you deduce about that?" Mycroft asked, opening his hands and giving a small, noncommital shrug.

"No," John shook his head, "You haven't been here, he wouldnt,"

"He's stealing millions... for a criminal dominatrix," Mycroft noted.

Molly stood, the kettle in the opposite room whistling gently. In her mind she had been going over it, where had she heard the name Irene Adler before? When Mycroft said dominatrix it suddenly clicked, Sherlock had mentioned her in passing that morning after her attack. Her mind was beginning to fire again, run through all the possibilities. The lavish gifts, his abrupt departure and the prefunctory kiss he gave her before leaving, the way he sounded on the phone the night before. This woman was _the _woman. The Christmas party began to make sense, the moaning text alert and Sherlock's distracted nature. She just didn't expect him to be quite so brazen. Her hands were trembling slightly as she made herself the cup of tea, her breath coming to her in small nervous puffs. He was an expert liar, a master of disguise, and after all- this Irene woman had come first.

"Molly," John's voice came from behind her and she jolted, the cup clattering against the saucer and spilling half its contents overboard onto the counter.

"I see why he wouldn't want to tell me," Molly said, reaching for a dishtowel and throwing it down over the spill.

"No," John protested.

"I can't really believe you wouldn't tell me though, why wouldn't you have said... something, anything," Molly leaned against the counter, her knuckles white, her eyes prickling.

"Molly, no, listen," John took a few steps forward, one hand on her upper back, the other resting soothingly on her forearm, "That's not why he left, at all."

"You said you didn't know," Molly turned her head slightly, her voice sounding slightly thicker.

"Look," John wrapped his arm around her, "I know Sherlock and there was a reason he left that wasn't about her- she doesn't matter to him anymore not like that. When we spoke, before he left, he sounded concerned, not like he was going off to see an old girlfriend,"

Molly opened her mouth to speak and John continued, "Which she wasn't! She wasn't even that. I think she threatened you, she does things like that, Irene plays games and she probably roped you into one of them. He's protecting you, that's what he does,"

Molly cleared her throat gently and nodded, "Why would she do that?"

"Because she has an obsession with him," John murmured, "but if he had chosen her, he would have had her, easily. He didn't,"

Molly nodded again, "Is this what it's going to be like now?"

"What?"

"Our life..." she trailed off and looked up at him, "getting threatened by Sherlock's enemies and him gallavanting off? He'll get himself killed,"

"He won't retire,"

"I wouldn't want him to," Molly said quickly, "but he needs to take precautions,"

"He won't," John confessed, "that's what he does, he risks his life to prove he's clever,"

"Except he's not just risking his own life anymore," Molly murmured.

"Life with him is not easy, Molly," John murmured, "I've spent three years of mine with him and from the day we met until now I've been protecting him from himself. But life with him is worth it, and if he's picked you to be go through it with him, that means something. He's my best friend," John squeezed her arm gently, "and I know him. He'll spend the rest of his life protecting the people he loves while we spend ours protecting him right back,"

Molly shuddered out a sigh and nodded again, "This Adler woman, she won't hurt him will she?"

"No," John murmured with certainty, "and Sherlock will get the upper hand as he always does and come home,"

"I swear if you're lying," Molly swatted him and laughed as best she could.

"I'm not, I told you - he loves you, he'll come home," John and Molly separated after a moment and she smiled.

"Love," Mycroft murmured, Molly almost forgot he had been there, "my brother has always raged against sentiment - we both have, but we all know he cannot quite cast off sentiment as I have done,"

Molly smiled wryly and returned to her chair across from Mycroft, "So,"

"Molly Hooper," Mycroft tapped his hand on his knee absently, "it would appear that you are more important to my brother than I had originally assumed, your child even more so."

"And?" Molly raised an eyebrow as John came to stand behind her.

"And if my brother is in fact not having an affair with this Adler woman, it is logical to assume that he is assisting her in reassimilating back into English society, which means I will soon be getting a phone call," he frowned.

"Why would he help her do that?" Molly questioned.

"Because once Irene Adler saved his life," Mycroft murmured, "and he is repaying her in kind."

"You will help him," Molly looked up.

"Of course," Mycroft nodded, "I have always cleaned up after my brother, whether he knows it or not,"

"Mycroft," John took a step forwards, "if Molly is being threatened, if that's what's really going on here,"

"My people are on it," Mycroft typed out a few things on his phone and slipped it back in his pocket.

"Thank you," Molly murmured.

"I should be going," Mycroft stood, his umbrella hooked over his arm, "if you hear anything from Sherlock do let me know,"

Molly and John both nodded and watched him start for the door.

He turned around for a moment and pointed to Molly, "One last thing,"

"Yes?"

"Our mother would like to meet you," Mycroft fished an envelope from his breast pocket and crossed the room to hand it to her, "I will send a car for you at a time that suits your convienance, she was very adament about meeting the mother of her grandchild,"

"I..." Molly held the expensive pearled paper in her hands, "of... course,"

"Good," Mycroft nodded sharply and started again for the door, leaving without another word.

"Have you ever met her?" Molly looked up to John.

"No," John shook his head and craned his neck to look over her shoulder at the letter.

"It's..." Molly began, "Sherlock doesn't speak to fondly of his family,"

"Childish fueds," John assured her.

"He's not going to be happy about this when he gets home," Molly noted.

"I'd expect not," John admitted and patted her gently on the shoulder, "but he's rarely happy anyway, so I say open it,"

Molly slipped her finger under the lip of the envelope and gently tore it away, fishing out the letter inside. The letter was handwritten in a script that was elegant and stylized, although it was beginning to lose its strength on the curls of the y's and g's. She swallowed and began to read.

_Dearest Molly,_

_ It has come time for us to meet, although I'm sure my youngest son would make an effort to keep us from doing so. I must confess I wish to know the woman who has managed to capture my Sherlock's heart, and there is only so much one can learn from Mycroft's reports. I understand you are a doctor so I assume the hours are rather irregular, please contact the number listed below with a date you would be available to meet for lunch. _

_ I look forward to our coorespondance,_

_ Violet Holmes_

"She sounds a great deal more plesant that I would have expected," Molly admitted and passed the letter to John for him to read.

"Will you call?"

"I would be afraid to not call," Molly took the letter back and ran her fingers over the ink, "I just wish he was here to go with me,"

"I doubt you'd want him on that trip," John noted, "count your blessings,"

Molly laughed, "Point taken,"

There was a tri-tone ding from the corner and Molly reached for her mobile.

_Still alive - SH_

Molly sighed and showed the message to John before typing back her speedy reply.

_So are we, stay safe. - MH_

**A/N: Yay! Another chapter finished. I'll probably upload the next 1 or 2 chapters by Friday, I have a plan for them, but I don't really have a whole lot of time to sit down and get them out to you just yet. I'd like to release them as a pair. **

**Side note: I chose Violet for Sherlock's mother's name because in the orignial canon, although her name is never explicitly stated, it is assumed by most of the community that her name is Violet b/c Conan Doyle had an obsession with using the name Violet. It just stuck, so for the sake of canon, I kept it too. **

**See you then, much love and thanks for all your reviews!**

**-x**


	17. How To Steal A Million

**A/N: Very short, but another update will follow soon! This is the Sherlock/Irene Chapter. **

**I just want to say a HUGE sorry for how long I've kept you all waiting. It's obscene, really. I've been sooooo busy, and when I wasn't busy I was just too tired to do anything else besides tumblr and catch up on skins. I'll have a lot of time to update over the next few days/this weekend so I'll be putting up the next chapter soon as well as (hopefully) getting to the end of this fic as fast as I can. (With a planned sequel, don't freak!) **

**Love you all and thank you for being so patient with me. Now, read on! **

Irene Adler flipped through the stack of bearer bonds, quickly tallying up her money and smiling mischeviously at her partner in crime. "Well that went rather well,"

Sherlock smirked and pulled off the skinny black tie from around his neck and shrugged off the the rest of the costume, immediately retreating to the comfort of his large coat and blue scarf, "Yes, and we would have got away scott free if you hadn't been so compelled to leave that little _love note _for the Prime Minister,"

"Oh please," she scoffed and flipped the bonds again, reveling in the sharp sound that millions of pounds made, "it was hardly even a calling card, it was just,"

"Moriarty never did calling cards," Sherlock pointed, "not to anyone but me, so if you plan on being a great 'consulting criminal' you'd better figure out how to protect yourself,"

"And Moriarty got himself killed," Irene noted.

"He killed himself, hardly the same thing," Sherlock retorted, "now that I've got you your money can you assure me protection for Molly?"

Irene raised an eyebrow and crossed her ankles on the hotel bed, setting the bonds beside her, "I'm not going to hurt her,"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "You know exactly what I mean,"

"Alright, alright," she held up her hands in mock defeat, "I'll spread the word around, she won't be touched,"

"Good." Sherlock stuffed his hands into his pockets and continued scowling, "Can I return to England now?"

"You have one thing left to do," Irene stood and crossed the room, pressing herself close to him, "call your brother,"

Sherlock's jaw locked, the last thing he wanted to do was phone his brother for help, but he had no choice. He pressed a few keys on his mobile and brought it to his ear, waiting until Mycroft came through, "Brother dear,"

Sherlock hummed, "Mycroft,"

"Judging by the state of the Romanian news I'd say you and Miss Adler were successful in your government heist?" Mycroft asked.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to, Mycroft," Sherlock scolded.

"And now you need a favour?"

"Yes," Sherlock stared down at Irene who was smiling up at him, "I'm flying back to England as soon as possible with the woman. I'll need you to arrange her safety for her return back to London as well as assurances that her questionable legal record is exponged."

"No small favour," Mycroft murmured.

"You have the capabilites, so do it," Sherlock answered quickly, "it must be done,"

"Is this about Molly?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock hummed a confirmation and then said, "When we land at Heathrow tonight I expect everything to be sorted out,"

"Fine," Mycroft said after moment, "It will be arranged."

"Thank you," Sherlock murmured.

"See you tonight,"

"It would seem so," He ended the call abruptly and pocketed the phone, looking down at Irene, "Satisfied?"

"Very nearly," she purred and ran a finger down his chest before taking a step back.

"We should be on the move," Sherlock said, "they'll be looking for you since you left your... note,"

"No worries," Irene slid a suitcase from the closet and opened up one of the zippers, extricating two plane tickets, "flight is booked and prepartions are already made."

"Excellent," Sherlock turned to leave but stopped and clicked on the hotel television, scanning the stations for a news channel.

Although neither of them could understand the Romanian, the images on the screen were clear, a security camera inside the Prime Minister's palace where they had stolen the bonds had captured an image of Irene as she snuck out the back - though the image was a bit blurry it was clearly her.

"That complicates things," Sherlock noted.

"Nonsense," Irene laughed and flipped the suitcase open, pulling out a long camel coloured coat and a brown office dress, a style that did not resemble Irene's vintage pin-up look in any way. She then opened up a box that had been encased inside and pulled out a ginger wig, "I'll be very discreet,"

Sherlock gave a small smile, "And the bonds?"

"They're no problem," she assured him, "now go pack, we've got a plane to catch."

!=!=!=!=!=!+!=!=!=!=!=!

They had made it through airport security without a hitch, their combined charm getting them through most of the security checks without pause. As the boarded the plane and took their seats in first class Irene smoothed the ginger curls and gave a glance to Sherlock who was on his phone.

He sent two quick texts before clicking the phone on airplane mode and settling in for the flight.

To John he wrote, _Case was successful, returning tonight. Be at Baker St. when I return - SH_

To Molly he simply wrote, _Still alive, home by 10 - SH_

Irene crossed her legs and angled herself to Sherlock, "So... this Dr. Hooper,"

"What about her?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, burying his phone in his breast pocket and glancing to Irene.

"When exactly is she due?"

"A little over two months," he intentionally kept the details vague.

"Hmmmm..." she murmured, "I never pictured you for the settling down kind, Holmes,"

"I'm not settling down," he shot her a firey glance.

She held up her hands in defeat, "Alright, whatever you say," there was a long silence before she turned again, "So you love her?"

"Don't," Sherlock cut her off, "leave it alone,"

"You do," Irene reclined in her seat, "Interesting,"

"I don't love her." Sherlock protested quietly, more to himself than to Irene.

"Does she know that? I mean, you don't just start a family with anyone, this girl must have some notions, some expectations of you. Money, marriage, _retirement_," Sherlock could feel her meddeling.

"Molly understands that I cannot love her," Sherlock relaxed once he sensed her game and swiveled his head to look at her, "We have sorted an arrangement that suits both of us pleasantly. The rest doesn't concern you,"

Irene's mouth parted slightly before she caught herself and snapped it shut again, nodding and looking to the wall in front of her, "Well then I'm very happy for you both."

He suddenly felt like laughing, but controlled the urge enough to hum his amusement once and return to the most comfortable position he could muster. Steepeling his fingers he pressed them to his lips and immersed himself deep in thought - time and time again the image of a newborn baby danced at the fringes of his thoughts, time and time again he imagined his daughter.

Across the aisle Irene Adler was pressing her eyes closed tightly and trying to imagine Sherlock with Molly in those moments her cameramen couldn't capture. Was he more tender inside the walls of 221B? In their bedroom? She felt slightly ill at the thought, deep down she had always imagined she would be the one to charm Sherlock Holmes into bed, the unassuming pathologist hadn't even crossed her radar until it was too late.

Her mind drifted back to the heist that had flawlessly pulled off, the mechanical way he had gone through the motions. He had been disguised as one of the caterers at the luncheon where the Prime Minister was meeting several of his associates while the bearer bonds changed hands somewhere inside the building. Irene took her place starting from the Prime Minster's hotel bedroom where he had left her that morning. She idilly imagined that he had struggled with keeping the rope burns on his wrists covered during the crucial meeting of government heads.

She had passed in front of Sherlock once while he conducted his portion of the plan, ensuring it would be possible for her to slip into the hotel safes and extract the leather brief case. He had been wearing a mask of complete indifference and total disregard for her. This had strangely disappointed her.

In the heat of the moment as she gripped the leather handle of the now empty leather brief case to replace it in the safe she had a stroke of an idea and clicked the case open a second time. She grabbed one of the hotel napkins and pressed her blood red lips to the cloth square, imprinting her own calling card. Slipping it in the case she locked it shut and then closed both inside the safe once more before turning and catching sight of Sherlock.

He bristled and gestured for her to follow, "I'd tell you to fix your mess but we hardly have time for that now,"

"Please," she chastised and grabbed up her own large satchel, now full of government funds.

"You're a fool," Sherlock had said over his shoulder as he walked briskly for the back exit.

Her heels clicked behind him authoratatively, "Genius, the word you're looking for, is genius."

He hadn't dignified her with a response and now as she sat on the plane, eyes closed and mile between her a Sherlock Holmes, she felt a shadow of disappointment.

!=!=!+!=!=!=!

Irene passed through customs without stopping, Sherlock close behind her - Mycroft had come through after all. The London sky was darkening rapidly as they headed for the doors of Heathrow aiport out into the air.

A sleek black car was waiting on the curb, the woman who called herself Anthea looked up from her phone for a brief moment before sending a quick text and nodding to Irene, "It will take you home,"

"Belgravia?" Irene raised an eyebrow.

"As per Mr. Holmes' instructions," Anthea nodded and opened the car door.

"Good," Irene held her bag close and took a few steps towards the door before turning to Sherlock, "care to share?"

"I'll get a cab," he said curtly and outstretched his arm to one.

"Thank you for your help," Irene nodded to him, "I'll be in touch,"

"Not neccessary," Sherlock sighed.

"Well either way," Irene gripped his lapel quickly and perched on her toes to press a lingering kiss on his cheek, hanging her head slightly, her hot breath lingering on his neck before pulling back and giving him a wink. She slipped into the car followed by Anthea and it pulled away from the curb immediately.

Sherlock frowned and got himself a cab, rubbing the red lipstick from his cheek and turning to the cabbie, "221B Baker Street,"

His phone gave a breathy moan and he glanced down at the screen.

_Until next time Holmes, I had fun playing while it lasted. - IA_

He didn't respond, but chose to change her text alert noise, scrolling rapidly through the options and selecting a less offensive chime, happily leaving Irene's vocal reminder in the past. His eyes upturned towards home.

When he finally arrived and climbed the steps of 221B he could hear rustling inside the flat, the light conversation between Molly and John.

"It was completely unexpected!" Molly exclaimed.

John laughed, "I have to meet her,"

"You'd like her, she's really much more lovely than I expected," Sherlock listened as Molly released a contented sigh.

John hummed and Sherlock heard the familiar clink of cutlery as John made her tea. Sherlock pushed through the door to join them.

"You're home!" Molly smiled broadly and stood to cross the room.

"Finally," John laughed again and poured some tea.

Molly was walking towards him when he noticed it and held out a hand to her, stopping her in her tracks as she studied his confused expression, one she rarely saw. "What?"

"You've met my mother," Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Molly..."

**A/N: Muhahaha, there you go. Next chapter will be up sometime tomorrow and will be the Molly/Violet meeting for tea scene. ^_^**

**Hope you enjoyed, sorry about the wait, and sorry about the jumping all over the place-ness of this chapter. **

**Review please,**

**-x**


	18. Tea For Two

**A/N: Yay! The tea chapter! Here. It. Is. Violet Holmes! I hope you all like this chapter, it took me a while to get good enough for upload. Thank you also for all your wonderful reviews, I cherish every one!**

**ALSO: I put the Holmes Estate in Holland Park because I honestly had no clue where to put it. I'm American, so when it comes to understanding the socioeconomic corners of London, I'm not the greatest. I googled it and what came up was Belgravia, Holland Park, and Mayfair - I didn't choose Belgravia b/c I thought Irene was too close. If you're English and you know a better place to set the Estate, I'd be happy to change it. Ta! **

**Disclaimer: See Moftiss. **

Thankfully for Molly the car was not sent for her after a long shift at work. Ever since she had gotten the letter from Violet Holmes she was dreading the moment Mycroft's sleek black car would pull out in front of 221B and summon her to the Holmes Estate. She had just been hoping it wouldn't be after a grueling shift while she reeked of decay.

Time that week had passed achingly slowly as she waited for the car and for her daily word from Sherlock alerting her that he was alright. When the car finally coasted to a stop in front of 221B it was near perfect timing - she just gotten cleaned up for the day and was still looking fresh.

Tucking whatever neccessities she could think of in her handbag she slung it over her shoulder and made her way out the flat, making sure the top doors were all shut tight since John was out with Mary.

A brown haired woman wrapped in layers of black fabric glanced up at her from her mobile, "I'm to take you to the Estate,"

"Right..." Molly nodded and smiled, looking down at herself, "I'm sorry, I know I don't know you or anything but do you think... I mean, well, what I've got on, is it alright to meet her?"

The woman looked up from her mobile again and scrutinized Molly's choice in sage green dress and gray cardigan, "I'm sure it's alright,"

Molly's hands wrung together nervously as she stepped towards the car, "Right, okay,"

The woman climbed in and Molly followed suit, feeling the car lurch fowards as soon as the door was shut tight to take them on to their destination.

After a few minutes of watching London flicker past Molly looked to the other woman and murmurmured, "I'm Molly, Sherlock's..."

"I know," the woman didn't bother looking up from her rapid fire texting.

"Course you do," Molly was starting to feel the itch of inferiority already, a feeling that she had finally been able to get rid of after spending so much time with Sherlock and John.

There was another long silence before Molly tried to boost her confidence and ask another question, "Sorry, I didn't get your name, it's...?"

A flicker of a smile past over the woman's lips, "Anthea," she looked up at Molly.

With no further conversation starters to offer Molly sank back in her comfortable seat and rested her hands on her stomach, biting her lip nervously as she attempted to shake out the jitters she was feeling. What was the worst that could happen? A various number of scenarios flickered across her thoughts in which was: embarassed, reprimanded, humiliated, mortified, and ultimately cast out of the Holmes family.

She was being ridiculous.

"What's she like? Violet, I mean?" Molly tried again.

Anthea once again did not bother to look up, "Dunno,"

"Great," Molly sighed, only time would tell.

It didn't take too long through the mild traffic to arrive at the Holmes Estate in Holland Park and when they did her nerves did not subside. Anthea pulled herself out of the car in one graceful and practised move, gesturing for Molly to follow.

Once outside the car Anthea looked up, "Right, so you can just go up,"

"You're not coming?" A moment of panic flickered in her.

"No," Anthea glanced to her phone, read a text and sent one back rapid fire. She gestured to the main door, "It's just through there,"

Before Molly could ask any more coheret questions Anthea was back in the car and it had pulled away, leaving her alone on the walk, staring up at the grand house. She took a deep breath and began to walk, the baby threw a few comforting kicks to her side and she exhaled, it was just tea, she could handle this.

She finally made it up to the front door and she was suddenly unsure. Ring? Knock? Open the door and waltz inside? Her outstetched hand was paused in mid air as her eyes flicked back and forth from bell to door.

It swung open quickly and her hand dropped, Mycroft appeared from the other side, "Dr. Hooper," he smiled, "Come in, please,"

"Oh Mycroft," she sighed and followed him, "good to see you,"

He hummed and gestured for her to follow, "Mummy's just through here in the side drawing room with the tea,"

"I'm not late am?" She fumbled for her watch.

"Nonsense," Mycroft assured her, "perfectly on time," and with that he slid the door open and pressed a hand between her shoulderblades to push her into the room.

"Mother," Mycroft said formally and held out a hand in front of Molly, "this is Dr. Molly Hooper, Molly this is our mother, Violet Holmes,"

Molly finally got a good look at her, a tall willowy woman who shockingly resembled her sons. Her eyes were the sparkling lighter ones of Sherlock, her thick brown curls wrapped back into a large bun at the nape of her neck, the thick swaths of silver more defined as they wove into the style.

Violet stood and approached Molly with an outstretched hand.

Molly took it and shook it quickly, "Mrs. Holmes it is,"

"Violet, please," she smiled broadly and gestured for her to have a seat.

Mycroft hummed again and smiled at his mother, "Well, I'll leave you two to it," he turned to Molly, "when you are prepared to go we will have the car return you to Baker Street,"

"Thank you," Molly nodded.

Mycroft disappeared into the house silently and Molly turned to look at Sherlock's mother, "It's a pleasure to meet you," Molly smiled.

"No, no, the pleasure is all mine," as Violet smiled Molly felt the knot in her stomach uncoil a bit and she let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. Violet leaned forwards and poured out some tea, "How do you take it?"

"I can do that," Molly reached forwards.

"Nonsense," Violet laughed, "I may be old but I am not pregnant, you can rest. Now, how do you take your tea?"

"Cream, one sugar, please," Molly smiled and reached out when the cup was prepared.

Once the both settled into the chairs Violet's eyes studied her, "So you're the woman who's captured my Sherlock's heart."

Molly felt herself blushing and laughed, shifting in her chair and taking a nervous sip of tea, "He's certainly captured mine," Molly murmured and once she had said it she bit her lip and almost wish she hadn't.

"My son is a difficult man to love," Violet noted, "almost as needy as a child himself,"

Molly nodded in agreement, "He's the most infuriatingly brilliant man I've ever met,"

Violet laughed at this and sighed, "I know coming here without him must be a terribly awkward thing to do, Molly," she leaned forwards slightly, "but I felt as though he would protested and our meeting might have been very delayed,"

"It's fine," Molly smiled, slighly uncomfortable.

"Mycroft told me the role you played in saving my son's life," she said abruptly, leaning back in her chair and taking more tea, "for that I want to thank you,"

"He asked me to help, he told me what to do... I just," Molly stopped herself from rambling and gripped her teacup.

There was a long pause and when Molly finally looked back up from her tea Violet's eyes softened, "Just how long have you been in love with him?"

Molly gave a small laugh and shook her head, "To be honest," she sighed before continuing, "it's been years."

"I can see that," Violet nodded, "when I fell in love with Sherlock's father it was quite like that. I loved him for a long time from a long distance before we really knew each other,"

Molly was suddenly confused about all of the accounts Sherlock had given her about his homelife. He obviously had perceived his family as somewhat unfeeling and a cold place to grow up in, perhaps the divorce had scarred him, but the woman before Molly at this moment was one of the kindest she could remember encountering in a long time.

Molly nodded, unsure of what to say. Finally Violet spoke again, "So, Molly,"

"Yes?"

"I would say tell me about yourself but I have read Mycroft's files and they were very detailed," Violet set her empty tea cup down and folded her hands on her lap.

"Oh," Molly cleared her throat, "Well, yes, I'm sure," she didn't know where she was going with her words and abruptly stopped again.

"I understand your mother has recenly passed away?" Violet murmured, her head turning slightly to the side.

"Yes, she um, died in a car accident in California," Molly swallowed and set her own tea cup down on the table, "Sherlock was very supportive after her passing,"

Violet raised an eyebrow, "Dr. Hooper, it would seem you have done something to my son's heart after all,"

Molly gave a nervous laugh and smoothed her palms over her rounded stomach, "He does care about us, he's awfully over protective of her though, for sure,"

"A grand-daughter," Violet smiled and her eyes flicked down to Molly's stomach, "After a life time of raising the two most brilliant boys it will be a nice change to see a genius girl in the Holmes line again,"

Molly smiled, "With Sherlock for a father she absolutely will be, but I'll have to keep him away from reading her books on Theoretical Physics until she's at least six,"

Violet laughed, "That is so like him - I'd be surprised if he didn't,"

There was a beat of silence and Molly found herself murmuring, "He will be such a brilliant father, I know it. Sometimes I think he's afraid, we obviously weren't planning for something like this, and I catch him looking at me with so much concern,"

Violet smiled warmly and she leaned forwards, "He worries,"

"That he does," Molly nodded, "He'd never admit to it, of course, but he does."

"If he puts half the dedication he does into his work into parenting, he will indeed make an excellent father, and we both know Sherlock does nothing with less that 100%," Violet locked eyes with Molly.

"That's why I trust him," Molly murmured.

"I have to thank you, Molly,"

"For what?" she asked, shifting in her seat slightly.

"For giving him a child, for giving me a grandchild. He would have never actively sought a family, his reasoning would have gotten in the way of that... but here you are, and as unplanned as it was, it's a miracle for him." Violet reached across the divide between them and took her hand, "I know I'm being rather affectionate, and we've just met, but I can see why Sherlock cares so deeply for you and I'm just pleased you've found each other,"

Molly blinked away a few threatening tears, "I was so prepared to come here today and convince you that I love him... that this wasn't a bad idea,"

Violet shook her head, "I've waited quite a long time for at least one of my sons to find a woman, to have a family. I would be a fool to cast that off, even if the girl was terrible, and you are far from terrible."

Molly laughed and sniffed gently, "Thank you so much,"

Violet squeezed her hand and leaned back, "So I understand you're living at 221B Baker Street with Sherlock and his partner, John?"

"In a manner of speaking," Molly confessed, "John's getting married soon and once he moves out I believe I'll be moving in. Sherlock and I haven't discussed it in detail but we are working on a baby's room there so we're... working on it,"

"That's good," Violet nodded, "and you trust Sherlock despite his choice of work and his difficult past?"

The question caught Molly off guard for a moment but she recovered quickly and looked Violet in the eye, "Mrs. - Violet, I'm a forensic pathologist so Sherlock's profession is hardly a bother. He loves what he does and he's the only one in the world who can do it, it's part of the reason why I love him. As far as his... past, I've made it very clear to Sherlock where I stand on that,"

"Which is where?" Violet interjected softly.

"Well," Molly's hands knotted together again.

"I only ask because I feel that if you're going to live with him, raise a child with him, you must know everything about him and trust him completely. I ask for your sake, not my son's," Violet clarified gently and Molly relaxed again.

"I told Sherlock that I would only allow him in our daughter's life if he was committed to staying healthy, and committed to her - he is and I trust him with my life," Molly replied with conviction.

"Good for you," Violet smiled, "Sherlock has a tendancy to tread over people even if he does not realise it,"

"Hmmm," Molly nodded and then looked up again, "he's still the best man I've ever known,"

"That he is," Violet sighed gently.

Molly had a thought and leaned forward, "Violet, what was he like as a child?"

Violet laughed and shook her head as she brought back some memories, "He was such the trouble maker, always deducing people on the street between his different experiments. I cannot tell you the amount of times we found dead things in the refridgerator - I put a stop to it of course but it went on for some time,"

"He still does that, actually," Molly noted and smoothed her hand over the spot the baby was kicking at.

"And yet I am not surprised," Violet poured them both more tea and continued, "he was always quite alienated from everyone though. Mycroft was so much older, and they bonded over this and that but spent most of their time fighting... his father and I tried our best to understand him and work with him but he was always one step ahead of us and didn't want to take help from anyone,"

"It took me a long time to get to know him," Molly nodded.

"He was closest with his grandmother, his father's mother," Violet noted, "Charlotte knew how to understand him, she would often just sit with him while he did his experiments and let him do the talking. She went with him to the parks for his walks and would deduce along with him,"

"Sounds lovely," Molly murmured and smiled.

"When she passed it was very difficult for him," Violet admitted, "he became even more withdrawn and I'd say it was right around that time he started trying to diagnose himself with something. He calls it sociopathy, I call it self preservation,"

Molly sipped her tea and nodded, "Things make a bit more sense now,"

"Do they?"

"Mm," Molly shifted, "he doesn't usually like to talk about himself. He talks about cases, the baby, and my day - although he probably knows it all before I even open my mouth. What he's told me about his youth I've had to coax out of him,"

"Again I'm unsurprised," Violet said gently, "but the fact he talked at all is so..." she trailed off with a smile.

The baby kicked Molly sharply and she sighed, pressing her fingers to the tender spot on her stomach, "Sorry, she's just... very active today,"

"Believe me, I understand," Violet laughed, "if you think Sherlock was mild mannered in the womb you'd be sorely mistaken,"

Molly laughed and opened her mouth to repsond but the sound of her cell phone dinging made her pause, "Oh, I'm sorry, do you mind if I check that? Might be Sherlock,"

"No, no, please," Violet smiled.

Molly bent to her bag and fished her phone out, sliding open the new text message.

_Still alive, home by 10. - SH_

Molly sighed with relief and closed the phone, responding would be pointless, at least she knew he was alive.

"So the Romania case went well then?" Violet's voice snapped her back to reality.

"So it would seem," Molly tucked the phone back in her bag, "I'm just glad he didn't get shot or something during all his gallvanting around,"

Violet gave a small laugh at that, "We can both be glad of that,"

"I'm so glad we met, Violet, really," Molly said earnestly, "I was starting to think Sherlock made you up,"

"I'm glad we did as well," Violet stood and Molly followed, "I should have the car brought around for you so you can be home when he arrives,"

"Thank you," Molly murmured and Violet leaned in abruptly and snagged a brief but tender hug.

"My son holds an impression of me from what I was in the past when I was at my least," Violet murmured as she held onto Molly's arm gently, "but all I wish to do know is know you and know my granddaughter, I hope you'll let me,"

"Of course," Molly replied quickly, "Sherlock will come round,"

"If anyone can make him it's you," Violet gave her a small smile, "I'll be in touch, Molly."

"I hope so," Molly stood at the threshold of the door, the car waiting outside, "See you soon, then?"

"Yes, of course, soon," Violet gave her one last goodbye and Molly climbed back into the black car alongside Anthea and started for home.

She spent the remainder of her afternoon cleaning up the flat and trying to focus on a book, but her mind was too full of Sherlock coming home. John finally arrived home at around half nine.

"Molly!" John smiled as he came through the door, "Did you know that I'm getting married. Actually, really, married?"

Molly giggled and turned to him in her chair, "Are you drunk?"

"Nope," he tossed his keys in the dish and sighed, "just very very happy,"

"Does Mary know you're this excited? Because if she doesn't, you might want to hide it," Molly laughed at him and playfully pushed his arm.

John smoothed her hair and sat on the arm of the chair, "So, how was meeting the old bat?"

Molly smiled up at him, genuinely pleased at both her day and the way she and John had become such good friends, "Totally fantastic actually, she's brilliant,"

"You're joking," John shook his head, "Sherlock always made them sound like..."

"I know, I know," Molly laughed, "It was completely unexpected,"

John laughed, "I have to meet her,"

"You'd like her, she's really so much more lovely that I expected," Molly confessed with a sigh. John gave her a smile and popped up to fix some tea.

The door behind them pushed open abruptly and they both turned.

"You're home!" Molly smiled broadly and pushed herself out of the chair to cross the room.

"Finally," John noted as he poured some tea.

Molly stopped a few feet from him, looking at his curiously confused expression, "What?" she was suddenly nervous.

"You've met my mother," Sherlock's eyes narrowed, "Molly..."

"Oh," Molly bit her lip, "right, well, yes I did,"

"Why would you do that? What was the point in meeting my mother? She's just... Molly why would you go to her without me there?" Sherlock demanded.

"Stop shouting!" Molly hissed, "she was just getting settled," Molly grumbled as she felt the baby flip again and resuming her kicking, "oh, Christ,"

"Molly." Sherlock took a step towards her and glowered down at her.

"Sherlock you really should give her a break she's," John began but the look Sherlock shot at him silenced him cold, "I'll be upstairs, yeah?"

When John disappeared Molly took a step away from Sherlock and began, "She invited me to tea, to meet me. What was I going to say? No? To your mother? That would have been... terrible,"

"Not the point," Sherlock dismissed it.

"It's exactly the point!" Molly sighed, exasperated, "you certainly weren't taking me to meet her and she was curious. I don't blame her, so I went and met her today."

"Without _me_," Sherlock cried.

"I'm sorry about that but you were off in Romania with... that woman, and so I went, I didn't know when you were coming home so I thought it would be best to go!"

"Nothing happened with that woman," Sherlock pointed.

Molly sighed, "I know that, I'm sorry. I didn't mean,"

"Molly," he warned, not wanting to have the discussion.

"I still don't understand why you wouldn't want me to go," Molly studied his face, "she's a kind woman, what were you afraid of?" Molly trailed off and thought for a moment, "That she wouldn't like me? Approve of me?"

Sherlock didn't respond for a moment, "It was a logical conclusion,"

"Wait," Molly ran it through her mind again, "Why wouldn't she like me? You do. Why do you think she wouldn't have liked me?"

"Molly, let's not do this," Sherlock shook his head, "you're being irrational and hormonal,"

"No." Molly shook her head, "You don't get to chalk everything up to hormones. Not this time. Answer me why?"

"Your circumstances are... less that socially presentable," Sherlock noted.

"What the hell do you care about socially presentable?" Molly replied quickly.

"My family is quite..." Sherlock looked for the word.

"Well-off?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, "to my mother the matter of social appearance is something of importance. I thought she would take issue with your profession, attire, and choice of living conditions prior to here. Our relationship is unconventional and unorthodox which merely adds to the divide."

Molly felt tears prickling her eyes and she looked down, grabbing her bag from the floor and pushing past him.

"Where are you going?" he looked genuinely bewildered for a split second before his mask of disinterest faded back into place.

"The baby's room, I need some air." Molly started out the door but turned to look at him, "for the record, your mother was lovely to me. She really liked me, and I'm sorry that's so surprising to you. I think all those problems with me weren't about your mum, I think somehow they're about you - if you had doubts you should have told me before this... I know you don't love me but I thought you cared enough to... to..." Molly hiccuped and turned on her heel, starting up the stairs as fast as she could and locking herself in the baby's room upstairs.

Sherlock stood contemplating what had just happened. Was it something he said? Something he did? He ran over his actions for the past week, he had texted her dutifully and her responses had seemed pleasant enough. She didn't believe him to be having an affair with Irene Adler so that was out of the question as well. He ran over the argument they had had about his mother, the things he said.

A phrase flashed in his mind, _I thought she would take issue with your profession, attire, and choice of living conditions prior to here. Our relationship is unconventional and unorthodox... _

Oh. Oh... Sherlock could see where he had gone wrong, her misinterpretation of his words and caused her emotional meltdown.

He had two options, go to sleep or go upstairs and deal with it. While a small part of his mind nagged and told him to deal with it in the morning, a larger part was pulling him upstairs.

Standing on the landing he rapped on the door softly, "Molly,"

"Please go away, Sherlock," Molly's voice answered.

"You've misunderstood me," Sherlock reached for the door handle and turned it, pushing into the room, "I fear that you got the wrong impression,"

"I asked you to go," Molly was lying on her back on the sofa, a thin shawl covering her shoulders.

"Molly please," Sherlock knelt by her side and placed a warm hand on her shoulder, "I'm very pleased my mother likes you. I was simply concerned, she is a very judgemental person and I did not want you to get hurt,"

A small smile broke over her face and she laughed, "She's not like that anymore... I don't think at least, she was kind to me,"

"For that I'm pleased," Sherlock's thumb massaged circles into her skin.

"For the record," Molly said, "I have a damn good job that I worked very hard to get, and I just dress comfortably. As for my last flat... it was rubbish but that hardly matters anymore. You're mum should be lucky to have me as her... granddaughter's mother?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but nodded, "I know that,"

"Good," Molly sighed and closed her eyes.

"You're not sleeping here," Sherlock noted, "there is no back support."

She groaned, "That's true, now help me up or I will stay here,"

Sherlock slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her upright, "Can we go to bed now?"

"Yes," she sighed and then added, "did you get what you were looking for in Romania?"

"The case was successful, yes," Sherlock replied as they shut the lights off in the main room of 221B and started back towards his room.

"Will you tell me about it?" she asked gently.

"In the morning," he promised.

"Hold you to it," she murmured as they dressed for bed and crawled in.

"Sherlock," he hummed in response and she moved close to his side and pressed her lips against his, "I missed you,"

He hummed again and returned the kiss gently before closing his eyes and pulling her close, "You too,"

**A/N: Ahahaha, they fought. But briefly. ;) I hope you liked, and the next chapter will be up later this week. **

**Love you all, drop some reivews! **

**-x**


	19. Double Dining Deductions

**A/N: Bonjour my lovelies! I know that I have been absent for quite some time (almost two weeks, which is horrible of me I know!) but I promise I have not abandoned this fic! I've been very preoccupied with school work and preparations for college, not to mention getting distracted by tumblr and other tv shows. ;) **

**Anyhow, I know this is a shorter chapter, but I hope it does well to sustain you until the next one which will be much longer and much more intense. I have it all planned, I just need to type it out. R&R ;) **

**Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. **

Sherlock Holmes was fiddiling, rather nervously, with his jacket lapel as he waited for Molly.

"The blue? Or the red?" she called out from their bedroom.

"Red," Sherlock called back, bothered by the question, "you hardly have to ask, you know the affinity I have for your skin tone against red,"

There was a pause, "Right!" Molly could be heard bumping around as she tried as best she could to get presentable.

She was a day away from hitting eight months and Sherlock was a day away from phoning Lestrade and officially taking a "consulting sabbatical". John had moved out officially two weeks prior and Molly had moved in. Thankfully for Sherlock Molly didn't leave her things spread across the flat, she was tidy and knew exactly what of Sherlock's not to move. This didn't change the fact that tensions were high at Baker Street, in a month (or less, as Sherlock kept reminding her) they would have a screaming baby to look after. The thought was both sobering and intoxicating to both of them.

"Who's idea was this dinner anyway?" Molly groaned, "I can hardly move,"

"Yours," Sherlock was quick to note, "If I recall correctly you phoned Mary last week about it."

"Oh do shut up," Molly emerged through the kitchen and pulled the shawl around her shoulders.

For a moment Sherlock couldn't quite speak, Molly looked stunning. The red dress that she had come home with a few days earlier fell perfectly over her: a flattering V-neck, three-quarter sleeves, and just to the knee. Molly smiled broadly at his reaction and ran a hand through her loose curls, "Presentable, then?"

Sherlock cleared his throat and reached out his hand, "You look lovely,"

"Thank you," she replied and she knew he meant it. As they started downstairs for the taxi Molly continued, "I'm glad you've agreed to this,"

"Well, I couldn't really say no to every day between now and the wedding could I?" Sherlock remarked.

"Do try and play nice tonight," she noted, "and if she does have skeletons in the closet, wait to tell him until after dinner,"

"Molly," he warned.

"Don't 'Molly' me," she remarked, "all I'm saying is be gentle, John really loves this girl,"

He hummed and gave a curt nod before piling them into the taxi and resuming silence. Molly could tell he was anxious about meeting Mary though he wouldn't have admitted as much, even to her.

After a few minutes Molly shifted in her taxi seat and turned to him, "Sherlock,"

He hummed a response but didn't look at her.

"He's not leaving," Molly murmured, "he's just being more of a grown-up, getting married and the like. We're all growing up lately," she wove her hand into his.

His fingers stilled instantly but he bit back a quick reply, "Molly don't be foolish,"

She smiled at him and would have mentioned something about denial, but thought thought better of it. She slid across the seat and folded his hand across her stomach, resting her hands ontop of his, "Things will be different, a good kind of different,"

He sighed but swiveled his head to look at her, the sharp retort dying on his lips as she kissed his shoulder and the baby kicked against his palm.

He brushed her cheek with his free hand and kissed her soundly, running his hand through her hair and resting on the side of her neck. "Molly, Molly, Molly," he sighed and kissed her temple before pulling back and resuming his stoic look out the window.

She lived for moments of tenderness like that one. Ignoring his usual protests she wrapped his arm around her shoulders and curled into him, staying silent to allow him to think but craving his touch and attention. The stress was growing day by day and she was seeking his silent comfort more often these days eventhough it sometimes triggered a small row.

When the cab pulled to a stop in front of the new flat where John and Mary had moved in together Molly pulled away and sorted out her hair as they climbed out of the cab. Sherlock paid the cabbie quickly and pressed a hand to the small of Mary's back before they began up the steps to ring the bell.

"Hello?" a woman's voice came that Molly recognized as Mary's.

Molly took the lead quickly, "It's us, Sherlock and Molly," she clarified.

"Brilliant! Come on up," the shrill buzzer rang and the door sprung unlocked.

As they started towards the lift Molly noted the crooked wry grin on Sherlock's face and she rolled her eyes, "If you tell me you deduced that she was a ballerina as a child or something crazy like that from five words I'll clock you,"

"A ballerina? Nonsense," Sherlock shook his head and punched the three button, "a quite accomplished singer? Yes,"

Molly's jaw locked and she turned to him, "Not a chance,"

"All in the enunciation and pitch," Sherlock smiled again as the lift doors opened and they headed out onto the landing down the short hall to the flat labeled "Watson".

Molly knocked on the door and it swung open not a second later revealing John Watson in his typical attire with a broad smile across his face, "Come in, come in!"

Sherlock appraised the flat with one quick sweep of his eye, deducing quickly and making a few solid conclusions about Mary's work history and daily patterns. Meanwhile John was talking, "Mary's in the kitchen and she'll be right out," he leaned to hug Molly briefly, "Cor, you're almost there, Molls,"

She laughed and nodded, "Nearly,"

The pleasentries were beginning to bother Sherlock, it had only been a few weeks since they'd seen each other, surely people didn't need to catch up this much. Thankfully a moment later a woman emerged from the kitchen and Sherlock had a new project to deduce. He made short work of her in that single calculating glance: teacher, previously married, recently spent time abroad, health problems as a child...

The woman outstretched her hand to Molly, "You're Molly then, it's so good to finally meet you!" Sherlock watched the exchange and noted something else: English birth, military family background, and spent the majority of her youth in Scotland judging by the slight roll of her R's and lyrical quality to her voice.

"You too!" Molly replied and smiled.

"And so that makes you Sherlock Holmes," Mary Morstan turned and outstretched her hand to him, "John has told me so much about you,"

"Pleasure," Sherlock nodded politely and shook her hand briefly.

Mary gestured over her shoulder, "I've just laid dinner out if you want to come through,"

Molly started after her, deliberately leaving the boys alone for a moment.

John turned to Sherlock, "Well?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "She's not a murderer if that's what you're asking,"

"Sherlock," John sighed.

"So far she is not irritating," Sherlock nodded, "and the only glaring issue in her past is her previous marriage which I trust you're aware of."

"Yes," John nodded, "he died,"

"Ahh," Sherlock was busy matching this up with his other deductions when John clapped his shoulder and gestured for him to follow to the dinner table.

Molly was saying something about being starved as they sat down and Sherlock studied the interactions between John and Mary, in some ways they already seemed married.

"So Mary, you're a teacher," Sherlock noted as they other three began to eat and he slowly cut his meat, "private tutor,"

"Yes," she nodded, "I'm sure John's told you all about that,"

"On the contrary," Sherlock looked up to her, "I prefer to make my own deductions of people, John has told me little about you."

Molly looked between them, cautious of Sherlock's upcoming deduction and of John's uncomfortable shift in his chair, tightening his hand on Mary's.

"I should have guessed," Mary murmured looking Sherlock squarely in the eye, "John's told me about your science of deduction,"

"I would imagine," Sherlock hummed.

Molly tensed and she smoothed her hand over Sherlock's knuckles, silently willing him to be gentle since knew she couldn't stop the deduction. His thumn unconciously hooked onto her hand and held it in place, acknowledging her warning.

"I've read John's blog about it too," Mary mentioned, "I believe him of course but it all does seem a bit fantastic,"

Molly caught John's eye across the table and they shared a look that could only mean one thing. Molly's eyes snapped back to Sherlock as he continued speaking, "Not fantastic. Simple logic and reasoning skills," he said, "for example, I deduced your husband-to-be in a matter of moments upon our first meeting. Army doctor after a tour in Afganhistan, estranged family, alcoholic sister,"

"Brother, you thought brother at first," John was quick to cut in.

"Yes well," Sherlock shrugged, "she calls herself Harry, it was a natural assumption at the time,"

"Hmmm," John shook his head and chuckled at the memory.

"Yes but you know John," Mary angled towards Sherlock, clearly fascinated, "you've already guessed I'm a teacher, but what else can you deduce about me?"

"I don't think that's," Molly started.

"Many things," Sherlock continued.

Molly wished that she could take a hearty gulp of wine but settled for nervously sipping her water.

"You're a private tutor to a young boy of seven or eight, and today he flicked ink at you," he started and Mary shook her head in disbelief.

She turned to John and Molly, "Is there ink on my face?"

Both smiled and shook their heads, though they were tensed and poised to interrupt if Sherlock went too far.

"There are two drops on your ear in fact," Sherlock gestured and Mary reached a hand to touch where he indicated, "difficult to wash off completely, but either way I can tell the boy is impetuous just as I can tell you're a teacher from your mannerisms and trinkets around the home. And I can tell that you spent years 5 through 17 growing up in Scotland, Edinburgh if I'm not mistaken, but you are of English birth. Your father was a military man which is reflected in your own posture and grooming, so clearly he disciplined you. However you spent some of your youth hospitalized, I would venture a heart condition from the scar that is just visible, a transplant perhaps. You've recently been abroad, somewhere sunny, the south of France perhaps and you were married once before, though John has informed me that you are a window for which I give condolences,"

There was a pause and Mary nervously laughed, "Right on all counts,"

Molly squeezed Sherlock's hand gently, he had done well.

"Yes, well," John shifted, "now you've seen it,"

"Brilliant," Mary smiled and looked to Molly, "though I imagine he could deduce your every move which is awfully intimidating,"

Molly smiled and shook her head, "Wouldn't try to hide anything from him anyway,"

The conversations abruptly split in two, Sherlock leaning across the table to address John about a recent case and Mary leaning towards Molly to discuss the boys. It all seemed a bit more comfortable this way for Sherlock, allowing him to tone down the small talk that so irritated him.

"When are you due?" Mary asked, gesturing to Molly's stomach.

"Well tomorrow makes eight months," Molly rested her free hand on her stomach.

"Excited?" Mary asked

"Yes," Molly murmured, "nervous as could be though," she admitted.

"I'd reckon so," Mary ran a hand through her shoulder length blonde hair and smiled.

"What about you and John? Have you discussed kids?" Molly asked.

"Course," Mary sipped her wine, "we're just trying to pick a number to settle on. I say two he says four," she laughed.

"Three's always the good compromise," Molly noted and they shared a laugh. For the first time in a long time Molly felt as though she had a friend, after years of hiding away in the morgue with the dead it was somehow Sherlock that brought her out with the living. How strange it seemed.

"Well either way, we've got time," she murmured and leaned back in her chair.

Molly hummed her agreement and finished off her water, glancing over at Sherlock who was describing one of his newest experiments to John.

"And what about you?" Mary brought her attention back and she continued, "Marriage in the cards?"

"Oh we... I don't," Molly searched for the words and gave another quick glance to Sherlock who was still talking but his ears had perked up. Molly finally found what to say and gave a small smile, "We haven't really discussed it, to be honest. We've got all we could want right now though,"

Molly felt Sherlock's hand come to rest on hers again, softly encasing it and smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. Mary nodded in understanding and replied, "Makes sense,"

"Mmhm," Molly murmured back and would have continued but John interjected across the table.

"Can I get anyone a refill?" John stood and shook his own empty glass.

"I'll take some more water if you don't mind," Molly held out her glass and John took it with a smile leaving the three alone.

"So," Mary smiled, "do you have any names picked out?"

"Not exactly," Molly admitted and shrugged, "I think we'll have to figure that out when we see her,"

"That's nice,"

Before they could attempt to create more conversation John returned with drinks and kissed the top of Mary's hair before sitting back down by her and ask Molly about work and when she was taking time off.

The night continued with relative ease, Sherlock was quiet but offered polite and kind comments here and there. When the night was over and it was time to wrap up promises of future get togethers were exchanged and well wishes for Molly and the baby were passed along.

As they stood side by side in the lift going down Molly smiled, "So that went well,"

Sherlock hummed but said nothing.

"What?" Molly turned to him, "You didn't deduce she's having a secret affair or something did you?"

"Nothing of the sort," Sherlock assured her and pressed a hand to her back, "she's quite a good match for him,"

"I thought so," Molly noted.

There was a long silence that pervaded until they had caught a cab and the issue was unavoidable, Molly was just surprised that it was Sherlock who brought it up first.

"Molly," he said, turning to her and resting his hand gently on her knee, "at dinner when Mary mentioned... marriage,"

"Yes?" Molly started, "Oh, I'm sorry about that, I wasn't sure what to say... the question kind of snuck up on me... we haven't even discussed it,"

"Molly," he interrupted, "if it's something that you want... something you hold value in, I could consider it, we could. It makes financial sense to have my assests tied to you and the baby if anything were to happen,"

Molly watched him carefully, it was the most selfless she had ever seen him, willing to put his own conventions aside for her. She pressed her hand to his cheek and shook her head, "No,"

"No?" he raised an eyebrow. "I assumed you would insist on it, as most women do,"

"I'm not most women," she kissed him gently and then continued, "I don't need a piece of paper to tell me that you'll stay with us and care for us, and I certainly don't need a ring to prove to people that you're committed to us. If you didn't want to be here you wouldn't be. Marriage is incidental,"

Sherlock was genuinely surprised but cupped her neck and pulled her in for another kiss, "Not most women, indeed," he murmured.

She smiled and sighed against his chest before murmuring, "Promise you won't do something stupid like retire from consulting after the baby comes,"

"What?" He looked down at her

"You're taking off time," she noted, "which you never do, and I appreciate it... but on the off chance that you get it into your head that I want you to retire, or you think it's safer for us, don't do it," she paused, "You'd resent me and I'd hate it. So if there's a case, I want you to go. Just come home afterwards,"

Comprehension flooded him and he squeezed her gently, "Agreed,"

"Good," she nodded, "sorted,"

He laughed gently at her and smoothed her hair.

"What are you going to do with yourself without cases for the next month?" she asked.

"I have some experiments lined up," he admitted, "but otherwise I will be finishing preparations for the baby and keeping an eye on you. I did not want to be out of town should you go into labor,"

"Ahhh," she nodded, "worried about me, I see,"

He gave a small snort but she knew the answer was yes. The cab slowed to a stop outside 221B and Sherlock paid and helped her out. It was unseasonably warm and Molly let the shawl slip off her shoulders as she entwined her fingers with Sherlock's.

Comfortably in silence they climbed the stairs, just happy to be home.

**A/N: Okay... so I hope it was alright, it's a bit filler, but I hope you enjoyed it all the same. **

**Just so you know, the deduction of Mary was taken partially from what we learn about her in Sign of Four along with the deduction in the Downey Jr. version at dinner. I took some liberties, but I'm trying to keep her character as canon as possible. **

**Next chapter will be posted by the end of the week, I'll try and do it sooner, but I don't want to make any promises because I know this one is a busy one. Just so you know my plans, I'd like to finish this fic before I go on spring break (first week of april) and then take an extended break before I write the third in the series. I have yet to decide the format of that story but when I know, I'll let you all know. **

**See you soon. **

**-x**


	20. Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

**A/N: So... remember that time I said I wanted to finish this before I went on Spring Break? HAH. not happening. It is Spring Break, and here I am, still updating. I'm sorry for the wait, things went insane here. Suffice it to say I've been stressed, busy, stressed some more, and haven't had a whole lot of time for reading/writing fics. I just caught up with Nocturnias' fic and that was like 6 chapters or something I missed. ^_^ **

**Good news is, here's a chapter. Bad news is, it's on the shorter side and full of drama. More good news? It's a prelude to a giant drama chapter. :D**

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own it. Now read on! **

Things were not going to plan, not in the least. A week into Sherlock's consulting sabbatical and he was feeling the cabin fever like never before. Now with disassembled pieces of the pram encircling him let out an exasperated cry and tossed one of the wheels away. His mind was cluttered with thoughts and schedules, appointments and due dates. What he desperately needed was a good old fashioned murder, the sight of a little blood would do him good and he would finally be able to relax.

"I'm not coming up there," Molly called up the steps from the landing, "but I made tea, so take a break,"

Sherlock groaned and ran a hand through his unruly curls but did not repond.

"Sherlock," she sighed and he heard leave the landing.

He mumbled inaudibly and resigned to get the foolish directions that came in the pram box. Whipping them open he silently studied them and slapped the page upon locating the missing piece in his own plan to build the pram. There it was.

It was obvious, staring him in the face, exhaustion had clouded his mind and forced him to overlook it. Insomnia had gripped Molly for the past few days and Sherlock found himself unable to sleep while she padded around the flat, restless and itching to escape her aching body. When he had slept it was an hour here and there sporadically caught between quiet conversations and arguments. Now as he gathered himself and he continued to piece together the pram he wished for the pregnancy to be over, they were ready.

Sherlock snapped the final touch on the pram and glanced it over, pressing down on it from various angles and ensuring its stability. Safe, he deemed.

Collapsing onto the smooth sage green sofa with a groan Sherlock relaxed his body and let sleep grip him.

Molly waited for about an hour for Sherlock to come down the steps. He was having trouble staying in, and she understood it, but she had also never asked him to do it.

Refreshing a cup with tea she started up the steps to check on him, it had been far to silent. A smile spread across her face when she saw his serene face and the finished pram. He cared so much more than he gave himself credit for.

Molly gripped the handlebar of the pram and tested the wheels, everything about it screamed vintage Victorian London and she loved it. It fit them perfectly and would fit their daughter even more.

Though it took effort she eased herself onto the hardwood floor and leaned against the sofa, letting her head rest against Sherlock's side and closing her eyes. His rhythmic breathing began to lull her into sleep and she felt her body begin to melt.

A warm hand on her hair roused her and Molly turned to see Sherlock gazing at her with his brilliant eyes and lazily caressing her hair.

"Hey," she murmured.

He gave her a quick smile and sat up, "You shouldn't be sleeping like that,"

"I know, I know," she waved him away, "no back support,"

"If you know you shouldn't do it," he noted but his voice was gentle as he slid back his legs and reached out a hand to help her up onto the open space on the sofa.

She yawned and allowed him to help situate her on the opposite side of the sofa before Molly shook her head and pulled herself over to cradle herself against his chest.

Sherlock's arms found themselves settling around her as he murmured into her hair.

"You're bored," she noted.

He sighed, "Molly,"

"It's okay, I'm not angry I'm just pointing it out," Molly smoothed over and craned her neck to kiss his throat.

He hummed, "I need a case,"

"Then call Lestrade," she answered simply.

"No Molly, you know I can't," he replied.

"You can, you just won't," she brushed her hand

He groaned, "We've been over this,"

"I'm just saying that I don't need babysitting, I'm perfectly fine staying in the flat, resting and getting this ready for when she comes," Molly shrugged against him awkwardly.

"I want to be here," he protested, "I simply have to adjust to the lack of cases... there's so much more time to... waste without them,"

"I understand," she murmured, "I'm itching to be back at work,"

He snorted gently, "you have to be on leave,"

"Still," she argued.

He nodded and ran a hand over her hair, gently quieting her and soothing her aching muscles.

"How long have we slept?" she murmured sleepily.

"Five hours," he noted, "You needed it."

"I need more than that," she confessed, "but she's not letting me get it,"

"Restless," he tapped his fingers against her stomach in a toneless melody.

"Just like her father," Molly laughed and squeezed his shoulder gently.

After a long pause Sherlock patted her shoulder and shifted, "It's starting to get late, you need to get in a proper bed,"

She groaned, "So comfortable,"

"You won't be in the morning, now come on," they unfolded themselves from each other and stood.

Sherlock started out the door but Molly was focused on the pram again, her hands gripping the bar firmly as she tested the wheels again and pictured strolling through the park with her little girl tucked neatly away in the pram. For once this dream seemed attainable.

Sherlock caught her sentimental gaze on the pram and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her temple, "Soon enough, now come to bed,"

She nodded, "I have to eat something first, I'm starved."

Once in the kitchen Molly began to fix up some tea and popped bread into the toaster, "Do you want anything?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Do I ever?"

"One of these days you'll say yes," she pointed the spoon at him and gave her best false glare before returning to tea.

"Improbable,"

"But not impossible."

"But not impossible," he agreed.

The toast clicked up and she tossed it onto the small plate with ease before continuing, "Have you thought about going to see John?"

Sherlock blinked, "Not really."

"It might be nice," she suggested, "get out of this flat for a few hours and see your friend,"

"He's busy," Sherlock reminded her.

"No, Mary's busy. I doubt John is really helping all that much with the wedding plans," Molly shrugged.

Sherlock hummed and turned from her, staring back into the living room, fully intending on flopping down on the couch.

"I can manage you know, I won't spontaneously combust while you're having lunch... or whatever it is you boys-"

Sherlock's ears perked up at the sudden lack of sound in the flat. His eyebrows furrowed as he turned his head slightly to the left. He was put into motion again when the sound returned: the shattering of the tea cup and the barely audible squeak of pain.

Molly was gripping the kitchen counter, white knuckles and firmly shut eyes, one hand pressed to her stomach.

"Molly?" he started for her and as his hands secured her elbows she slipped to the floor. He saw the blood that was smeared across the countertop and her fingers and the growing dark patch on her jeans.

"Something's wrong," she began but fell silent again as the pain gripped her.

He was on his knees, one leg on either side of hers as he dialed 999. When the operator bombarded him with inane questions he bit out, "An ambulence to 221B Baker Street, you'd do well to order that instead of barking questions at me."

The phone clicked shut and he turned his attention back to Molly and the growing pool or red between her thighs, "Molly,"

She silenced him quickly, "Abruption, it's an abruption I'm sure of it,"

Sherlock nodded and felt her hand grip his forearm as he dialed the only number he could think of.

"Hullo?" came John's groggy reply.

"You must meet us at the hospital, immediately," Sherlock said quickly, "Molly is having an abruption, we've called an ambulence, you must meet us there,"

"You're at Baker Street?" John asked, his voice still clouded from sleep.

Molly was struggling to get a hold of her breathing and she began to sink further onto the kitchen floor, "Sherlock... I'm dizzy,"

"John!" Sherlock barked into the phone.

"Abruption, you said?" John was suddenly Dr. Watson and continued, "Keep her awake and alert, keep her talking until the get to you,"

Sherlock dropped the phone and clicked on the speaker before pulling Molly upright again, "Molly!"

"It hurts," she gritted her teeth.

"I need you to stay awake," he patted her face gently to stun her eyes open, "focus,"

Molly was silent, staring at him with watery eyes.

"Do better than that," John's voice came from the phone.

Sherlock shifted suddenly and moved to sit behind her, bracing her upright against his chest and shaking her back into conciousness, "Molly stay alert, talk to me,"

"Describe your symptoms," John said

"She..." Molly began but took a long breath and found herself more awake, "Just pain, and dizziness, which means the placenta is tearing away from the uterine wall... she's suffocating,"

Sherlock steeled himself, "She'll be alright,"

Though his voice was oddly detached Molly still felt comforted, "I can't lose her,"

"We won't," Sherlock assured.

"My head hurts," she groaned and let it fall back onto his shoulder.

"No," Sherlock propped it back up, "Come on, Molly," he kissed her temple and urged her to stay concious.

The sound of banging came from down stairs and Sherlock felt relief flood him, finally.

"John they're here,"

"I'm on my way to the hospital," John said and they could hear Mary's soft voice in the background.

The paramedics suddenly took up much of the kitchen as the pried Molly out of his arms and off the floor with a flurry of questions, recieving curt answers from Sherlock. As they strapped her down and took her down the steps Sherlock stood, his heel slipping in the pool of blood on the floor and chilling him. Panic began to race through his veins as he calculated the blood loss and statistics of survival.

He grabbed the night bag by the door that he had packed three nights before and sprinted for the ambulence, pulling himself in and securing Molly's tiny hand in his.

It was all IV bags, pen lights, and pulse taking while Molly lie there on the gurney, her fingers pressing firmly into his hand, a brief respite from the pain and the fear.

"Molly," the female paramedic said, "have you had any discomfort the past few days?"

"She's been fine," Sherlock replied quickly, "Not sleeping well but-

"Yes," Molly nodded, tears filling her eyes and Sherlock stilled, "a little. I thought it was just... I didn't,"

"It's okay," the paramedic waved her down, "you'll be just fine,"

"I'm sorry," Molly found Sherlock's eyes, "I should have said,"

His jaw was locked but he gave a small shake of his head and squeezed her hand, the hospital wasn't far now.

There was a clamor as they piled out of the ambulence, and Sherlock was suddenly on point, dialing on his mobile quickly.

"Brother dear," Mycroft answered.

"I need the best surgeons you can get at St. Bart's hospital immediately, Molly's had complications," He followed her gurney closely as they reset a mask over her face

"Consider it done," Mycroft hung up after the short pause and in the ruckus Sherlock suddenly heard John calling his name.

John and Mary were jogging up to them, still bundled in night clothes, but Sherlock was following Molly.

"Sherlock?" she called, her fingers reaching out but finding nothing.

He was following the gurney with determination but as it pushed through the double doors inside on the wing labeled "Surgery" a pair of arms stopped him.

"Sir, you can't go any farther," the doctor answered.

Sherlock scoffed and pushed past him, his eyes still locked on Molly.

"Sir!" the doctor pushed him back a few steps, "I'll have security throw you out if you don't calm down,"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Sherlock shouted.

John's hand was suddenly on his arm, "Sherlock, it's not worth it,"

The doctors exchanged a nod before he said, "I'll update you in a moment," before he disappeared behind the double doors.

Sherlock stared after him, angery pooling in his stomach and he turned to John, "Give me your engagement ring,"

"What?" John's brow furrowed at the request.

Sherlock held out his hand and prompted again, "Now. They won't let me with her if I don't say we're married,"

Realization passed over John's features and he twisted the white gold band off his finger and passed it to Sherlock, "Don't lose it,"

Sherlock gave a small snort and pushed the ring onto his hand before turning to Mary, "Yours?"

Mary's eyes widened but she nodded and pulled the diamond off her own finger, "Take it,"

"Thank you," Sherlock tucked the ring into his pocket and turned back to the double doors.

The doctor who had stopped his entry before reemerged, "Alright Mr..."

"Holmes," he replied quickly, "How is she?"

"Are you the husband?" the doctor checked.

"Yes," Sherlock answered immediately, "How is my wife?" the words sounded strange on his tongue.

"They are doing a C-Section now to save the baby," the doctor said, "but your wife has lost a lot of blood, they're doing everything they can,"

"Can I see her?" Sherlock felt everything shifting beneath his feet despite the steadiness of the floor.

"She's in surgery..." the doctor said.

"Is she awake?" Sherlock tried a different tactic.

"Yes, she requested to be,"

"Then I'd like to see her," Sherlock took a warning step closer, "now."

"You'll have to put scrubs on," The doctor waved him through, "and keep quiet, and not interfere,"

"Done,"

"This way," the doctor led him through.

John watched him go, his eyes fixated on his bloody shirt and the ring around his finger, everything was happening too fast.

**A/N: OH MAN. OKAY. there you go. Cliffy and some baby drama. **

**I warn you, the next few chapters will be difficult. When I write them, that is. **

**I also want to say, thank you to everyone reveiwing. Over 400! I'm astonished. I love you all and I never imagined to have so many people interested in this fic. A few of you have been worried that I'm giving up on this story because of the infrequent updates, I'd like to tell you that I will absolutely finish this story. There is no way I could leave it undone, I know the ending, I just have to get there. **

**So updates will be sporadic, yes, but they are coming. **

**I love you all! please drop a review. **

**x**


	21. One or the Other

**A/N: Hello again! I wanted to update as fast as I could because of the amount of screaming reviews I had. I love you all, seriously. I want to thank each one of you individually and give you all internet baked goods, but I don't have anywhere near that kind of time so just know, each one of you inspired me to keep writing today. :) **

**I hope you're prepared for this one. R&R**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own them. **

In retrospect, Molly thought perhaps she should have been sedated. She was feeling numb from the chest down but she could still vaguely sense pressure and hear the scapels against her skin. For once in her life she hated that she graduated medical school, the jargon being thrown around by the surgeons was like a second language as they called out orders to each other, arm deep in her belly.

"Your husband's on his way in, love," the slightly plump anesthesiologist murmured from beside her.

"My what?" Molly's brow furrowed.

"Your. Husband." she enunciated and patted her shoulder gently, "He shouldn't be long,"

Molly's mouth hung open like a gasping fish but she kept silent and waited.

"You're going to have to cut deeper than that," she heard one of the surgeons instruct.

Molly cringed but her eyes popped open again once the doors behind her shuttered open and a warm hand entwined with hers.

"Finally," she gripped Sherlock's hand with a fury as he took the stool by her head and trained his eyes on the surgeons work.

"It's a clean cut, Molly," he murmured to her, "everything looks alright," his eyes flicked up to the heartbeat monitor on the baby that was slowly taking a downward turn.

Molly turned her head slightly to look up at him and he glanced down, remembering his plan and noiselessly slipping Mary's ring from his pocket to Molly's ring finger. He gave a small shake of his head for her to stay quiet about it and she nodded.

"Fetal heartbeat dropping," Both of their heads snapped forwards and Sherlock stiffened.

"Alright people, let's move a little faster," the lead surgeon announced and Molly's eyes slipped closed, concentrating on a prayer she hadn't thought of since she was a child.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and realised Sherlock was just as desperate as she was, only he had nothing to pray to. She looked up at him, "She'll be okay,"

"Of course she will," he dismissed the sentiment sharply and kept his eyes locked on the surgeon's hands.

"There she is, get her to the table," One of the surgeons said.

Sherlock watched as his daughter was lifted from Molly, his blood running cold as he took in her slightly blue pallor.

"Can you see her?" Molly asked up to him, hope filling her eyes.

"Yes," his voice came out weaker than he intended.

"Why... why isn't she crying?" Molly craned her neck to see but couldn't manage it.

He opened his mouth to speak but couldn't, his eyes still locked on the doctors that were giving his child infant CPR and clearing her airway. It felt like hours that he watched and Molly waited, whispering her prayer and holding back the flood of tears.

A choking infant sob ripped through the operating theater and the air left their lungs. "She's okay? She's alright?" Molly said frantically.

"She's pinkening up," one of the doctors said, "let's get her to the ICU,"

"Go with her," Molly said, looking up at Sherlock.

"I shouldn't leave you," he confessed and Molly was startled by the emotions she saw across his face.

"I need you to go with her," she gripped his hand, "I can't so you have to,"

Sherlock nodded and swallowed, kissing her forehead and squeezing her hand one more time before rising from the stool.

"She's still losing blood, giving me more packing," Sherlock watched as one of the surgeons pressed gauze and packing into Molly. His eyes glanced over the floor around them, it didn't look like any crime scene he had ever seen before but the amount of blood was the same. The floor was littered with a disturbing array of red rags and gruesome medical supplies as they rushed to put Molly back together.

Part of him couldn't leave her but she looked up at him with a stoic expression, "Go,"

He gave her one more nod and departed, tearing off the scrub cap as he followed his daughter's cart down the hall to the ICU.

As Sherlock left Molly felt a weight descending on her chest and the need to cry grow stronger but she kept composure, her fingernails digging into her palms as she listened to the doctors work and tried to keep calm.

"The sutures aren't holding," said one.

"We'll keep packing," said another.

"She keeps losing blood," Molly registered this in the way her head felt heavy.

"I need more packing!"

"Order some more units from the blood bank, as quick as possible,"

"We can't keep packing, she's losing more than we can replace,"

Faintly Molly could hear the sound of an extending beep and her eyes started to slip closed.

!=!=!+!=!=!

John and Mary were sitting in the waiting room, hands clasped together and tapping nervously.

Mary could see it best to stay quiet, John's mind was going a mile a minute and it was obvious he needed all of this to be over.

The hospital doors opened loudly and they both swiveled to look as a team of doctors rushed past them followed up by a serious looking man with an umbrella.

"Mycroft!" John jumped to his feet, "What...?"

"Sherlock called me, said he needed the best doctors I could find," Mycroft nodded and watched as his team waved credentials at the hospital staff and made their way back to surgery.

"She's in good hands now," John nodded, "she'll be just fine now,"

"Yes, I should hope so." Mycroft hummed, "their deaths would surely be a tragedy for my little brother,"

John would have bit back a reply at the condescending tone but caught the sincerity in his eyes and thought better of it.

A nurse came to find them then, "Are you John Watson?"

"Yes,"

"Sherlock Holmes said to come and find you, bring you back to see his daughter," she said, waving them to follow.

A smile spread across John's face, "She's alright!"

The nurse nodded but said nothing more as she led them through the halls. As they turned the corner John saw him, standing at the wide window with his hand against the glass, his shoulders slumped forwards and his head slightly bowed.

John murmured quickly to Mary and Mycroft, "Let me go first,"

They nodded silently and watched as the army doctor took a deep breath and made the long walk down the bright hall to his best friend. As he approached he gazed through the window and instantly caught sight of the little girl he would one day call his god-daughter. Her bright curious eyes and dark curls were so clearly Sherlock and her delicate face shape and skin tone reflected Molly perfectly.

"She looks like you both," John began, pressing a warm hand to his friend's shoulder.

"John," Sherlock started and John felt a chill across his spine at a voice he hadn't heard since their final conversation the day of the fall.

"They're both going to be just fine," John murmured and gestured to the infant through the glass, "they'll keep her for observation for a day or two and then you'll all be able to go home,"

"There's a chance Molly won't make it," Sherlock's voice was grave, "as I was leaving I saw the amount of blood she'd lost and her heartrate... she asked me to go with the baby." After a beat he mumurmured, "I left her there, John. Why did I leave her there?"

John sighed and gripped Sherlock's shoulder, "Because she asked you and you were following her wishes. I won't lie to you about her odds because you know them already but you're focusing the worst case scenario and we both know Molly wouldn't go out without a fight. She's small but she's determined and there's no way she would leave either of you,"

Sherlock's eyes slipped closed and and his hand slipped from the glass to lean against the ledge before him, "She can't leave," Sherlock murmured, "I need her here,"

"It's okay to worry," John turned to him, "but Mycroft's doctors are here and are with her now,"

When Sherlock didn't respond John looked back to the baby, "The doctors said she'll be alright though, yeah?"

"Yes," Sherlock nodded, "they want to keep her under observation like you suggested, ensure that the lack of oxygen had no lasting effects,"

"I'm sure they'll both be fine," John echoed.

"There's no one I can kill, no one I can blame for this," Sherlock's voice was darkening.

"What?"

"When Molly was attacked... when that man hurt her," his jaw was clenched, "I could hurt him, I could kill him... but now theren's no one to blame and I want to hurt someone for doing this to her,"

John's eyes widened, "You killed that man who attacked her?"

"Of course I did," Sherlock scoffed, "and Lestrade knew and he said nothing so who's to blame there?"

"I just thought..." John began but decided to leave it, "Things happen Sherlock, I know you want an explanation and a puzzle to solve but sometimes things just happen. No one caused this but the doctors are going to solve it, and then you'll be able to take them home and make sure they stay safe, and happy, and loved."

"John," he nearly corrected him but as he watched his daughter through the glass, reaching out with tiny hands for some unforseen thing, he felt a change. Perhaps this sentiment he had been feeling for so long was more than affection, more than caring. For a fleeting moment he could have sworn he had just locked eyes with his daughter and in that second he decided, he loved this child.

"Mr. Holmes?" A voice beckoned from behind him.

Sherlock turned and studied the doctor before him, "Yes?"

"It's about your wife," she began before taking a step forwards and shaking her head.

**A/N: BOOM. DOUBLE CLIFF HANGER. **

**And I'm sorry, I know you're probaby all about ready to stake me, but just trust me, bare with me, and wait until next chapter. It will all be... something. **

**Drop me a review, I'm almost at 500! **

**x**


	22. Family

**A/N: Okay everyone. Here it goes. I got so many roaring reviews about how brilliant but infuriating the last chapter was so I'd like to say a couple things.  
>1. I love you all, I tried to go do other things but your all caps reviews made me want to come back and finish this part out. The story doesn't end here, but it's getting pretty close. :) I love you for getting me over 500 reviews, I'm shocked and so happy.<br>2. I would suggest listening to the song Hallelujah (the version by Imogen Heap) while reading this chapter, or before if you can't listen to music while reading. It's what I had on repeat while writing it, and inspired a lot of it. **

**I apologize for all the angst, and I hope this chapter does the story justice. I tried my very best to keep everyone in character and move everything along. **

**Also, if anyone gets the book reference tucked in there I give you all the internet baked goods in the world. All of them. **

**Disclaimer: I still don't own it. But I do own the little girl, she is mine. ;) **

It had been hours. Mary was sleeping on John's lap in the waiting room, her hand still gripping his as he anxiously awaited more news. Mycroft had left along with most of his doctors just as dawn began to creep around the corner.

The chair that Sherlock was sitting in was right uncomfortable, stiff backed and slightly too short for him but he sat there anyway. His fingers brushed the bruised and split open knuckles of his right hand, rubbed raw from throwing his fist into the bathroom wall. It had been a long time since he had cried earnestly, for cases of course he often feigned sympathy for the victims in order to gain evidence, but it was never real. There was no logic to the tears he shed, the overwhelming stress and feelings releasing in a momentary flood of rage and grief that only ended once he had shaken himself out of the ridiculous display and straightened himself up again. Logic based, reason based, fact based - there was no room for emotions at a time like this. John had never seen him so shaken, and never would again.

And yet something deep in his stomach yearned for something to take the edge off, just once, but he remembered his promise to Molly and kept composure.

As he shifted in the stiff chair and waited for something - anything - to happen, a nurse poked her head around the door and murmured, "Mr. Holmes,"

He did not want to fill out anymore forms, he did not want to follow protocol. He grimaced and turned, "Yes?"

"Well," she started, "We wanted to ask you if you might want to hold your daughter, the doctors are letting her leave the ICU we're taking her to the standard nursery,"

"She's healthy then?" Sherlock was on his feet.

"She responded beautifully to the minimal treatment we needed to administer and she's perfectly healthy." The nurse moved aside to open the door fully and wheel in the small plastic cart that held his daughter tucked inside a pink blanket.

The nurse made to pick up the baby first and pass her to Sherlock but he held up a hand and recalled the beginning chapters of the parenting books he had read before slipping his arms gently under the child and supporting her head in the proper fashion, cradling her in the crook of his arm.

"Bit of an expert, you are," she murmured and smiled at the picture of father and daughter, "she's beautiful,"

"Thank you," Sherlock nodded once and looked down to her.

"I'll leave you to it," the nurse murmured and slipped back out of the room.

Sherlock couldn't help himself, staring down at her his heart felt full, a dizzy kind of happiness flooding him as he brushed his fingertips along her brow and kissed her forehead. He felt a kind of tenderness towards her that he had never shared for anyone except Molly, and even then, this girl was all his - to love and protect and keep happy.

The baby's eyes opened with a flutter of her eyelashes as she gazed up at Sherlock Holmes, wonderment and curiosity flickering in her crystalline eyes. It was inexplicable, but somehow Sherlock felt as though there was something tied between himself and the baby, a cord of communion that so tightly linked them he could only describe it as love.

"One day," he murmured down to the child, "you'll be as beautiful and as brilliant as your mother,"

As he said this his eyes drifted back up to the hospital bed before him and he shifted to sit on its edge, "Molly you have to wake up now,"

She did not respond, as he expected, but simply lay motionless amongst the bedsheets, her eyes gently closed and her body regulated by an array of tubes and wires. His mind replayed her prognosis once again as he looked down at her but felt the baby stir in his arms and he rocked her gently from side to side to settle her.

"Mr. Holmes?" the same nurse who had brought her had come again the retrieve her.

"You have to take her, then?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, I really do," she nodded, "I thought you'd want to see her, but I have to get her to the nursery,"

"Of course," Sherlock settled his daughter in the plastic box again and brushed his fingertips along her cheek briefly before clearing his throat, straightening up, and letting the woman take her away.

He resumed his place in the stiff backed chair once again, his fingers wrapped around Molly's motionless ones and waiting for her to wake. It wouldn't be over until she woke.

!=!=!=!+!=!=!=!

_"It's about your wife she began before taking a step forwards and shaking her head. _

_ "What's happened?" Sherlock took another half step forwards, his words nearly failing him. _

_ Behind him John was braced for the worst, braced for any scenario and ready. _

_ "She lost a lot of blood and she's unconcious now," the nurse made to touch his arm comfortingly but took in his expression and thought better of it, "We tried as long as we could to keep putting in sutures but the internal damage was too great, we had to preform a hysterectomy on Molly to save her life," _

_ "But she's fine, she'll live, yes?" Sherlock tried again for a straight answer. _

_ "It looks that way," the woman started, "but until she wakes up we won't know anything for sure. Her body sustained a lot of internal damage and her heart stopped in surgery so her body has undergone a lot of stress. Her odds are good, but I can't say for sure until she's awake," _

_ Sherlock swallowed and nodded curtly, "What about our daughter?" _

_ "Again, we just want to keep her under observation for a while but she's only a few weeks premature and her lungs and heart are fully developed. She'll be just fine," _

_ "Thank you." Sherlock cleared his throat and began to turn away from her before pivoting and asking, "What room is Molly in?" _

_ "She'll be in the ICU, the recovery wing." The woman offered a reassuring smile but Sherlock turned away and found that his hands were tightening into fists. _

_ The urge to hurt someone came over him again - why couldn't he blame someone? Kill someone? He wished for a fleeting moment that he believed in God so he could curse him. _

_ He found himself in the restroom moments later, back pressed up against the wall, hands pressed against his face. His fingers were trembling and as he pulled them away and stood up straight he saw the dried red flakes of Molly's blood on his wrist and forearm. He brushed the course blood with the pad of his thumb, images of Molly collapsing in the kitchen fresh in his memory, before snapping on the tap and scrubbing furiously at his skin. _

_ When the last fleck of blood finally left him he turned off the water and leaned heavily against the sink, his breath coming in shallow, painful inhales. He felt several hot tears run down his face before he realized he was crying at all and glanced up at himself in the mirror to fully comprehend what was happening. _

_ All those nights of sleep deprivation, weeks of preparation for the baby, months of stressor after stressor finally built to this moment of release: Sherlock's fist flew out and collided with the bathroom wall. Flashes across his mind of Molly made it more difficult to stop the self destructive onslaught - attacked, crying, vulnerable, beautiful, pregnant, maternal, bleeding Molly. Her face as he left the operating theatre. He shouldn't have left. _

_ The moment of emotional release took all of a minute before Sherlock Holmes was back in full logical swing, pressing a towlette to his bleeding knuckles and straightening his appearance before stepping out into the hall. _

_ "Sherlock!" John took a few steps forwards. _

_ "Don't," Sherlock said simply before turning on his heel and following the wall signs that indicated the ICU. _

!=!=!=!+!=!=!=!

Molly Hooper had the feeling that she had just been plowed over by a train. Her muscles were aching and her shoulders felt like a weight was pressed on them. Her throat was dry and cracked, her tongue coarse against the roof of her mouth as she struggled to break apart her palate. Her eyes cracked open with some effort and the hospital lights immediately blinded her back into the refuge of lidded eyes.

When she finally gathered the courage to look around herself she was immediately struck by the new shape of her stomach. Still somewhat rounded but definitively smaller and less pronounced.

Her eyes swiveled to the side and saw Sherlock, his head leaning against his arm, eyes closed as he slept. Her fingers twitched in his as she tried to sit up further, pain cutting across her stomach, she let out a labored groan.

Sherlock was sitting up right within the second, "Molly!" Though his eyes were clouded with sleep he shook the stupor away within seconds and gripped her hand again, leaning forwards in the chair to look up at her.

"I-" she started but her dry throat was impeading speech.

"Dry throat," Sherlock stated what she was thinking and reached across to the table, gripping the small bucket of ice chips before sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning over her.

She gave him a weak smile as he fished out an ice cube and ran it along her lips, letting the cool water work down into her mouth, refreshing her tongue and throat with a vengence.

She inhaled and licked her lips, motioning for him to put the ice away and gripped his cold fingers.

"Is she..." Molly's eyes were rimmed with tears.

"She's well," Sherlock assured her with a smile, the feeling of elation that was overcoming him now that both his girls were alright was unfamiliar and not unplesant.

"Oh, thank God," her eyes slipped closed as tears snaked down her face, a small sob released from her throat.

He kissed her hair and brushed the tears from her face, "Molly, there are things I need to tell you,"

Her eyes opened once again and she looked up at his serious brow, "What things?"

"About what happened after I left you in surgery," he began.

"I was unconcious, I think," she started, "I don't remember much."

"Yes," he nodded, "your heart stopped briefly, and you lost a lot of blood,"

She nodded and bit her lip, watching his pensive face. He took in a breath to continue but she held up a hand and murmured, "If it's bad, tell me like a doctor. Trying to soften it for me won't help,"

He gave a curt nod and cleared his throat, "After I left Mycroft's doctors arrived, they ensured that you continued to be transfused but you lost conciousness and fell into cardiac arrest. The doctors managed to resucitate you quickly but were concerned about your blood loss. Your uterine wall was not clotting and the blood was spilling over into your abdominal cavity. They preformed a hysterectomy to save your life,"

Molly's eyes flicked down at her stomach before looking up at him, "Oh,"

"I'm sorry," Sherlock said, "I understand that's a difficult thing to undergo... emotionally,"

"Yes, I," Molly extricated her hand from Sherlock's and wiped her eyes, letting her head fall away from him, eyes trained on the wall.

Helplessness was tangible in the air, both of them unable to speak, stiffly sitting next to one another, nearly touching. He was unsure of what to say, how to help her, although he knew he needed to. John had said it would be a difficult thing for her to hear, something difficult to accept. Sherlock's hand inched forwards, wanting to brush her hair away from her face, smooth away her tears and wrap her up like he was always able to - somehow this time was different.

This was an emotion not so easily dissected. Though he could walk through the fundamental cause and effect - Molly had a hysterctomy, Molly was sad - he could not find the roots of it to offer any words of comfort.

Molly felt empty, as cliche as it sounded. She had the inexplicable urges to scream, to throw up, to push Sherlock away, but she couldn't find the will to move, the strength to even cry. Part of her was gone.

Minutes later Molly found it within her to murmur, "Will one be enough?"

Sherlock looked down immediately from the wall to her face, "What?"

"One baby, will she be enough?" Molly said, a bit more clearly.

"She's all we need," he said earnestly, shifting to grip her hand.

She turned her head back to look at him, "I'm sorry,"

"For what?" he was bewildered at her apology.

"I should have been more careful, walked less... stayed home more... slept in bed not on that stupid couch, I should have," Molly was floundering, her trembling fingers pressed against her face.

"Nonsense," Sherlock dismissed it, "there's nothing to be sorry for. She's perfectly healthy, and in a few days so will you be. Before you know it we'll be back to Baker Street, and I'll be consulting, and you'll be off to work, and everything will be fine."

She nodded and reached out to take his hand, "Have you seen her?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"I don't know when I can... see her, I want to see her," Molly scooched up further in her bed with gritted teeth.

"I'll get her," Sherlock kissed her brow.

"Please," Molly nodded and fell back against the pillow as he stood and went to leave.

Sherlock found the nurse who had helped him earlier in the hallway noting something on a chart, "Excuse me,"

"Mr. Holmes," she smiled, "how is your wife?"

"Awake," he nodded, "she wants to see the baby, could we arrange that?"

"Of course," she smiled again, "I'll bring her to the room,"

"Thank you very much," Sherlock watched her replace the chart as she turned towards the elevator and went to retrieve his daughter.

Through the doors to his right he could see John and Mary waiting, their hands clasped together tightly as they each sipped their cups of coffee looking bleary eyed and nervous.

Sherlock pushed through the doors and they jumped up.

"Are they going to be alright? Is Molly..." John began.

"She's awake, they're fine," Sherlock gave a quick smile, "they're bringing the baby up to Molly now,"

"That's wonderful," Mary murmured with a smile.

"I should get back to them," Sherlock turned.

John nodded with a sigh.

"Are you coming?" Sherlock beckoned them through with a quick jut of his head and led them towards Molly's room.

From the opposite end of the hallway Sherlock could see the nurse wheeling the small cart with his daughter wrapped up in pink down the hall, coming to meet them at Molly's door.

He opened it widely and stepped through, "Molly,"

Her eyes lit up instantly, neck craning to see her daughter.

The nurse smiled, "She's been so good for the ladies up in the nusery," she said as she came to adjust Molly's bed into an upright, sititng position, "there y'are,"

Sherlock scooped her up with ease and brought the baby to Molly leaning over and slipping her into Molly's waiting arms.

"Oh my God," she whispered as the baby settled in her arms and Sherlock took a seat on the edge of the bed, his arm now comfortably resting around Molly's shoulders.

"She's so beautiful," Molly murmured.

Sherlock hummed and pressed a kiss to Molly's hair.

"Charlotte," Molly brushed her fingertips over the child's brow.

Sherlock's eyes widened, "What?"

She turned slightly to look up at him, "I thought we could name her after your grandmother, I know you cared for her. Charlotte Holmes, I think it suits her,"

He nodded and smiled, "Perfect," he kissed her gently and briefly before the nurse left them be and John and Mary took her place.

"Hi!" Molly smiled broadly up at them, "Come meet her,"

John and Mary found themselves staring down at the wide eyed baby who was silently staring back with wonderment. John's eyes flicked up to Sherlock who hadn't stopped looking at Molly and the baby since they walked in and a smile played across John's lips, so much had changed.

"Have you named her?" Mary asked gently.

"Charlotte," Molly said proudly, "Charlotte Holmes."

"Beautiful," John remarked.

Molly leaned her head against Sherlock's shoulder, her eyes never breaking from the baby who was reaching up at her, "She is,"

Sherlock and John shared a look before Sherlock remembered the ring on his finger and he moved to slip it off. He pressed it to John's palm and nodded his thanks before taking Molly's small hand in his own and slipping off Mary's diamond engagement ring, "Here,"

"Thank you," she smiled.

"Thank you," Sherlock corrected. He found himself still holding Molly's left hand, his finger dragging over the indented flesh where the ring had just sat.

Molly looked up at him, her brow creasing with a silent question to which he smiled briefly in response and nodded, their attention returning to the baby.

"I suppose we should call Mycroft and thank him," Molly laughed.

"Yes," Sherlock resigned.

"I'll phone Lestrade and tell him the good news, he called earlier asking after you both," John noted.

"Thanks," Molly smiled and sighed, adding, "I'm so knackered,"

"Can you have coffee? I could get us all some," Mary offered.

"That would be so lovely, thank you," Molly nodded, desperate for the caffeine.

"Be back in a mo," Mary slipped out the door after squeezing John's hand.

Suddenly the four were alone and it felt so strangely comfortable.

"We're an odd family, this," John sat on the edge of the bed opposite Sherlock and smiled at them.

"We are, aren't we?" Molly laughed gently and looked up to John, "After all, you are going to be her godfather."

John's smile widened, "You're sure?"

"Of course, John," Sherlock scoffed, "Who else would we ask? Anderson?"

They shared a laugh and Charlotte cooed, reaching out again to which Sherlock offered her his finger.

"Besides," Sherlock continued, "you will always be around to protect her when I am not, I trust you with our lives,"

John nodded and cleared his throat, "I'll do my best,"

Molly outstretched her arms, "Want to hold your goddaughter then?"

"Absolutely," John reached out and took the child from them carefully.

"Don't drop her," Sherlock cautioned.

"Thought you trusted me with your lives," John mocked playfully but ensured that he was indeed holding her correctly.

Charlotte cooed again and Molly smiled, "She likes you,"

"Well I should hope so," John laughed.

Sherlock watched over them all with a smile, and as John rocked their daughter gently back to sleep, Sherlock leaned over and sighed against Molly's hair with a barely audible, "I love you,"

For a moment she thought she couldn't have heard it correctly but believed him whole heartedly and responded as gently as she could, entwining her fingers with his and giving his hand a soft squeeze.

No large productions or declarations, the exchanged sentiment was just like them in everyway. Neither needed to say it often, but the truth was now there and plainly acknowledged and for the first time in a very long time, Molly felt full of hope and love.

**A/N: aaaaaand there it is. I hope I didn't torment you with such a long wait. For the record, there will be ONE MORE chapter to this fic, and it will be up later next week. After that I will be taking an extended break and then returning with a third for the series. As I've said before I don't know if I want to do a series of one-shot like vignettes of Sherlock and Molly as parents or if I want to do a solid serialized story... let me know what you'd prefer please, it would really help me. **

**Also, a special thanks to Gwen Black who was so kind to want to translate my stories into Spanish for more people to read. I cannot express my thanks enough to her, I am so honored that you like my story enough for that. **

**As for the rest of you who have encouraged me all week (and all these months of me writing) to continue, I love you. You have all made writing this a fun and wonderful experience and I can't thank you enough, the response to the last chapter was incredible and I'm so glad you liked it. I only hope this chapter was as satisfying and not ooc. ;) **

**See you all next week, much love and jam, **

**x**


	23. Author's Note

**Hello Everyone, **

**Before you get excited, this is not a chapter. **

Let me start by saying I am _so _sorry for updating and having it be an author's note. I hate when other people do that, and I'm angry at myself for even writing this.

Now, I am not abandoning this story (or the planned third and fourth for the series), but I am going on an extended hiatus. I have sat down numerous times to write the epilogue to this story and no words would come. For some bizarre reason I am just inable to finish this story at this point in time.

I'm going to chalk it up to the fact that I've been handling a lot of stress right now: finals, AP test, college prep, personal issues, and other general snaffus that have gotten in the way of my finishing this story.

So for now, I am on an extended break. I'm marking this story complete for now, but I may come back and tack on an epilogue. Otherwise, sometime this summer I will be writing the third in the series (currently unplanned and untitled) and that will be updated regularly.

I know you're all pissed at me for doing this, but I wasn't going to update with a terrible chapter just for the sake of updating. I love you all too much for that. :)

When I'm back, you'll know it. But for now I'll say au revoir, follow me on tumblr at gingerteatime, or on twitter Chaiwigley if you want to stay up to date with me. Otherwise, see you when I see you.

Much love, and well wishes. Until summer,

x


	24. Trilogy Notice

I'm not even going to waste your time pretending this is a chapter.

BUT it is an ANNOUNCEMENT.

On my page you will find the first chapter of the THRID INSTALLMENT in this trilogy. It is titled "The Science of Paternity" and you'll want to get over there and R&R.

Love you all, hope you forgive the extremely long wait.

x


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